


If Only I Could Think But the Belt's Too Tight

by thereweregiants



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (more towards the mission than each other), Angst, Blackwatch Era, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Light BDSM, M/M, Mission Fic, Powerplay, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 21:59:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15519516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereweregiants/pseuds/thereweregiants
Summary: In the aftermath of the Venice Incident, Reyes and Blackwatch attempt to investigate missing couples, with him and McCree as bait.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> haven't written fanfic in a decade and the damn Retribution cutscenes are what dragged my ass back in
> 
> written in a mad fury over a weekend with The National's Boxer on repeat, unbetaed because life's too short to fux w typos
> 
> never met an em dash, comma splice or parenthetical I didn't want to make sweet sweet love to 'cause short sentences are for losers
> 
> title from El Vy's ["I'm the Man to Be"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TYr2FWnSaAo). doesn't have anything to do with anything unless you like songs about autoerotic asphyxiation

Gabe grumpily sat at the bar, nursing a watered-down scotch that he wished he could toss back and follow with a few more. He’d been waiting for Kerr to show up for half an hour, and she, like all Blackwatch agents, was never late to a mission without a good reason.

His eyes scanned the club once more – he’d positioned himself so he could see as much of the murky room as possible while keeping his back to a wall. There was a door to an alley to his back left, but the door was creaky enough he’d been able to keep track of the various employees on smoke breaks and clubgoers who couldn’t wait for a hotel.

This week’s mission was a sobering one – possible drugs and definitely missing people. It came up on Overwatch’s radar that couples were going missing from nightclubs in Milan and not resurfacing. As so many tourists visited the multicultural city and were seemingly the majority of people taken, it wasn’t clear that it was a pattern until some minor German politician’s daughter vanished. People were always taken in twos, and so far only a few couples had resurfaced, with no memory of where they had vanished to.

Given Milan’s proximity to the Overwatch headquarters in Zurich and the ever-present worry that Talon was nearby, Blackwatch was very quietly sent to investigate. Gabe was wary of being back in Italy only a few months after the Venice clusterfuck, not to mention Rome, but they were undercover and halfway across the country. No one should know they were here.

Shifting uncomfortably in his overly tight pants and red shirt unbuttoned to far lower than Gabe would ever do on his own, he contemplated grabbing a bottle of liquor and seeing if the omnic waiter would even notice. This type of nightlife was not Gabe’s cup of tea.

An arm slithered around Gabe’s waist and a voice crooned, “Hey darlin’,” in his ear. Gabe relaxed as he subconsciously recognized all the familiar signs of his teammate _– heavy footstep/sweat/still wearing that goddamn cologne/is that smell metal or blood/thick arm around his back_ – before stiffening when he realized it wasn’t Kerr that he was reacting to. Whipping his head around, he stared into the amused and tired brown eyes of Jesse McCree.

Leaning over, in a bad parody of murmuring a loving welcome to his date, Gabe hissed, “What the fuck McCree? You’re supposed to be in Morocco! Where is Kerr?”

McCree sighed, whispering back, “It’s her leg, boss. Sparking like fireworks, apparently ended up settin’ some curtains on fire.” Gabe sighed himself, breath stirring the hair hanging over McCree’s ear. Not _again_. Kerr’s prosthetic hadn’t given her trouble in years, but when it went bad it was rather…noticeable. A memory of an evacuation due to a foam target going up like a candle, resulting in everyone outside shivering in their underwear at 4 am in a Swiss winter came to mind.

“Ziegler wouldn’t let her go,” McCree continued, “And we just finished up our deal,” – he nodded in reassurance to Gabe’s raised eyebrow – “Everything went well, boss, I’m sure you have a message waitin’ for you about it, so they redirected my transpo here to take Kerr’s place.”

Gabe lifted a hand and cradled McCree’s face, running a thumb over his cheekbone where it descended into stubble, pushing gently to check for cracks. His movements looking from the outside like a loving caress, he minutely shoved McCree’s face around, looking for injuries. _Of all the agents, they just_ had _to send McCree_ , he thought to himself as he checked over the other man.

McCree yanked his head back. “I’m fine, bo- _babe_ ,” he muttered. “Not in public.” Gabe rolled his eyes. McCree wouldn’t admit to injury even if his eyes were bleeding, so he’d have to take his word for it until he could check with Angela.

Gabe tossed back the remains of his melted-ice-with-a-drop-of-scotch and directed a vicious smirk at McCree as he grabbed his arm with a “Come _on_ , baby” and pulled them across the room.  He caught a glimpse of McCree’s slightly dazed face – served him right for not letting Gabe check him over, he deserved the brunt of a Reyes smile. Gabe backed them into an alcove he had spied out earlier, putting his back to the wall and pulling McCree to him with arms around his neck.

“How much did they brief you on?” Gabe breathed into McCree’s face, trying not to tangle his hands in McCree’s hair – _where was his hat?_ – as his traitorous appendages felt like they should.

McCree shook his head, dropping his eyes to look at Gabe’s collarbone after trying to meet his eyes from mere inches away and obviously not able to handle it from the red on his cheeks. For as much as the man flirted with everything that moved, he had odd moments of shyness. “Not much, just that couples were bein’ taken and drugged, mostly not showin’ up again. You and Kerr, Dean and Hansen, Austin and Genji, all at different clubs.”

Gabe exhaled, “Yeah, that’s the basics, now for team stuff. We’re all hitting different clubs each night. Keep eyes on the room, especially couples – see if anyone disappears for something that’s not a good time. Drugs are running like water here, just try and see if anyone is over the edge of what’s safe or acting strange.”

Gabe lifted McCree’s chin with a finger, steadily meeting his eyes from just a few inches away, their noses nearly touching. “I’m cutting you slack for a moment, McCree, because you just got thrown into this, but you have to get used to this and fast.” McCree shook off Gabe’s finger with a toss of his head but returned to his previous position and kept eye contact.

“I know this particular situation is awkward with me as your commander, but we need to sell this as a couple. Everyone we could find who were taken were not hookups, they were long-term couples. We will be goddamn lovey dovey if that’s what it takes to sell this, because we’re bait.”

McCree’s eyes crinkled. “Did you just say ‘lovey dovey?’” Gabe rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to speak as McCree continued, more seriously. “Boss, I’ve drank and fucked and got high on assignment for Blackwatch. I know you’re intimidatin’, but I think we can handle some couple stuff.” Gabe rolled his eyes again, happy for just a moment of his tight pants that disguised his reaction to what McCree’d had to do – on assignments that Gabe himself gave out.

Gabe cleared his throat, steeling himself. “First off, no more boss. Gabriel or Gabe.” McCree’s eyes lit up, and Gabriel put a finger on his opening mouth, stopping McCree from whatever smartass thing he was going to say. “This time only, McCree. Just in public”

McCree gave an exaggerated wink. “And you can call me Jesse,” he said against Gabe’s finger. Gabe stared at him steadily until he deflated a bit. “No, McCree.”

Before he could think about it – _all for the mission, this is all for the mission_ – Gabe leaned forward that final few inches, replacing his finger with an unintendedly delicate press of lips. McCree’s eyes were wide as he pulled back, the dark brown a shrinking rim against expanding pupils that searched Gabe’s face. “I am serious, McCree. If you’re uncomfortable we can switch you with Genji.”

McCree chuckled, just a bit unsteady. “I’m your man, b-Gabriel. An’ I’m more cuddly than the Tin Man, anyways.” Gabe exhaled in annoyance.

“Once we’re out of here, get your com on channel four.” Tilting his head minutely, Gabe muttered into his own com, “Let’s give it another hour, and debrief at my hotel.” Various clicks indicated assent from his other teams.

McCree grinned at him. “Well, if we have another hour, let’s make the most of it!” Mirroring Gabe from earlier, McCree grabbed his arm and pulled, getting them onto the dance floor. Gabe growled under his breath.

“I don’t do club dancing, McCree.”

“You dance in clubs. If you don’t it’ll be suspicious.” To McCree’s credit, he’d positioned them at the edge near where Gabe was sitting earlier, the best possible view of the club from the floor. He’d also positioned Gabe against his front, sliding large hands over sharp hipbones.

Gabe’s breath caught. He was a professional and this whole situation, inappropriate as it might be, was his job right now. Half-closed eyes flickering around the club, he let himself sink back against McCree, their upper halves pressed together, letting McCree direct their hips. There was a little space there – as much bluster as he gave, McCree wasn’t jumping in to grinding against his boss right away.

 _Yet_ , whispered the id in Gabe’s brain, that instinctive part that had watched Jesse grow from nigh-feral outlaw to competent (and then some) agent. Now thirty and Gabe’s right-hand man, McCree was scarily capable, slithering his way into being Gabe’s second in command before he knew what was happening. He’d also filled out into a broad chested tree of a man, thick arms and thicker thighs wrapped with muscle that nearly matched Gabe’s own SEP-enhanced musculature. McCree had kept, however, his non-regulation length hair and non-regulation cigar and non-regulation hat and smirk that should be non-regulation just because of what it did low in Gabe’s gut.

Gabe had realized around four years ago that he was in trouble when they were on some minor mission in Iran that went south. During a firefight where Gabe had taken a slash to the ribs, McCree had shielded him from a blast and then taken out their adversaries, six dead bodies in fewer seconds. He had stood above Gabe, backlit by fire and smoke and blood dripping from a split lip, splitting further in a smile, holding out a hand for Gabe to grab. Gabe let himself be pulled up and left his emotions in the rubble.

He told himself it was adrenaline – battles like that often ended in team members blowing off steam with whoever was available, often each other. Near everyone in Overwatch and Blackwatch was attractive, at their peak of physical capabilities. But no - it wasn’t the battle and it wasn’t his body (though it certainly didn’t hurt): it was McCree’s smile, his competency, his willingness to throw himself into the line of fire for his teammates and commander. And even his dumb flirting, which caught everyone – including Gabe – in its crossfire. Gabe had been hit by McCree’s stupid pickup lines for so many years that they barely registered…except when they did and Gabe had to give his circulatory system a stern talking to.

Gabriel Reyes, military hero, SEP graduate and Commander of Blackwatch, did not get crushes. Instead he forced all those stupid, treacherous thoughts to the back of his brain where they stewed, until McCree did something to bring them out again. This mission, with its forced couple-dom, was going to be sheer hell.

Movement caught his eye, and Gabe locked gazes with a well-dressed man at the smaller bar across the room. His eyes had come back to that man several times in the past few minutes, and he was pretty sure the man was watching them.

Raising an arm, Gabe leaned his head back against McCree’s shoulder and pulled the other man’s shaggy head towards him. Gabe let his lips drag across McCree’s cheek on the way to his ear, burning from the stubble.

“Purple shirt, single male, 10 o’clock. He’s been watching us.” McCree nudged Gabe’s head over, mouth hovering over Gabe’s neck as he looked across the club. Gabe barely breathed, feeling McCree’s breath on his windpipe. That breath stuttered as Gabe felt McCree chuckle under his breath through his back.

Moving up to Gabe’s ear, he whispered, “Naw, boss, he just thinks we’re hot.” Gabe stiffened, about to give McCree a whispered lecture on targets when McCree lowered his chin to Gabe’s shoulder and slid one hand from Gabe’s hipbone up across his chest. Hip now cold without McCree’s warmth, Gabe let McCree pull his body even closer to him, hips now together. Gabe watched in confusion as the man gave him a startled look then quickly turned around, giving his back to the agents.

“McCree?” Gabe whispered, unable to see his face from where it still rested on his shoulder. He realized his hand was still in McCree’s hair so he tightened his hold and used it to turn his head. For a moment McCree’s eyes flashed at Gabe with such intensity it caught his breath, then dissolved into his usual smile.

“Just letting him know that we’re not up for grabs,” McCree said.

 _Oh_. It wasn’t a mission thing. It was a … _them_ thing. Gabe was suddenly hyperaware of his body and the long line of heat that was Jesse against the back of it. They were still dancing, McCree having moved his hand back to Gabe’s hips and swaying them in a supple motion. Gabe hadn’t been lying when he said he didn’t do club dancing – but apparently McCree did. Regardless, they had worked together for so long that his body had been going along with whatever McCree had been doing – fighting was its own dance, after all, and Gabe and McCree knew each other’s fight styles as intimately as lovers knew each other’s bodies.

Gabe glanced at his wrist. Time for debrief. “We’re done here, we need to get back to the others. Where’s your stuff?”

“At the hotel, apparently. Fio said it’d be delivered.”

Gabe nodded and stepped forward, giving one last look around the frustratingly boring club before grabbing McCree’s arm and threading their way through the crowd.

 

-x-x-x-x-x-

 

Their hotel was two blocks over – “Hotel Rialto? Jesus, boss!” “I didn’t pick it, _cabrón_.” – and they joined the other four team members in the hotel restaurant. The others’ eyes all widened, and Dean jumped up to clap McCree on the back. Gabe let him explain the Kerr situation, looking everyone over. Dean and Hansen had been at a high-class place halfway across town, and both looked resplendent in luxurious fabrics. Austin and Genji, however, had been at some underground club that junkers frequented and Gabe wouldn’t have assigned if it didn’t look like one couple might have been there when they were taken. Both were in ratty clothes, Genji’s lights dimmed by dust or covered with fabric. Combined with Gabe and McCree, they made for an odd grouping.

Wait, what was McCree wearing? Gabe realized he didn’t know as he’d had his back to him for most of the night. Gabe saw it was his Blackwatch uniform – minus the parts that made it a uniform. He was missing his usual McCree accoutrements – no hat, spurs, gun, serape, or cigar, not even his ostentatious belt buckle.  He also had no tac gear, not even his chaps or cuffed sleeve shirt. Black boots, grey pants hanging low on hips without a belt, and skintight black undershirt. That was it.

Gabe’s breath shook for a moment, and he didn’t know why. He had ten copies of the exact same clothing that McCree had on right now, why did that stupid lizard brain give a shit?

Gabe came back to himself as McCree was telling some story involving Moroccan coffee and another agent. He cleared his throat, and everyone quieted, turning their attention to their commander.

“Did anyone see anything out of the ordinary? Couples being there and then not, people being high when they shouldn’t, any suspicious looks?” At the round of head shakes, Gabe rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Okay, we knew that might be an option. People aren’t disappearing every day. It will likely take awhile.”

Gabe pulled out his tablet and flicked a screen up. “Assignments for tomorrow. Hansen and Dean, you’re at the place McCree and I were at tonight. Genji and Austin, you’re at the college kid place over on the east side. McCree and I…” Gabe’s voice paused nearly imperceptibly, “..are at the fetish place on the south edge of the Darsena Canal.”

“Beg yer pardon, boss?” came McCree’s expected incredulous statement. Gabe found himself rubbing his forehead this time. “We have to. It’s a gay club so Hansen’s out and they’re nervous about being shut down so no prosthetics because there could be cameras,” he nodded at Genji, then tiredly met McCree’s eyes. “It’s us or no one, and at least three couples were taken from there. We have to stake it out.

“What clothing did you bring, McCree? Anything that might work?” Choked chuckles came from around the table, Hansen looking like this was the best thing she had heard all year. Even with preparation, it would be doubtful that McCree owned anything that would work at a fetish club. Bar his belt buckle, maybe.

McCree gestured to his body. “This is it, _jefe_. Plus my gear. Because they brought me here right after and the Morocco mission was just a day…”

“This is all you have.” Gabe finished for him. “Hansen.” Gabe watched her jump to attention. “Because you find this so funny, you get to take McCree shopping tomorrow. Get him in order then pick up the supplies from the list I’ll send you.” Hansen nodded, smiling at McCree with the chance to make him her own dress-up doll. McCree, for his part, looked like someone had just kicked his puppy. “Boss…”

“McCree,” came the flat reply, met with a sighed “Fine.”

“Okay, everyone, let’s call it a night. McCree and Hansen on shopping duty tomorrow, Genji and Austin, you do quick recon on all three clubs, and Dean and I will be doing reports.”

“Nooo…” came the quiet moan from Dean. “Not reports.”

“Buck up, agent, red tape is all that’s holding us together at this point. I expect to be sent all receipts tonight so we can get started.” Glum nods came from around the table. Being so far undercover meant using credit accounts long-thought abandoned instead of their usual ones, resulting in more paperwork than the norm.

Gabe stood up, a signal for everyone to disperse. They had settled in different hotels, so if one group was taken out the others might have a chance of escaping. McCree and Gabe made their way to the elevator, taking it up to the tenth floor.

 

-x-x-x-x-x-

 

Gabe and McCree had a corner room, with expansive bathroom and balcony overlooking a garden. No couches, instead there were two overstuffed armchairs. One bed, currently covered in Gabe’s small arsenal that he brought with him to every mission.

McCree flopped face down on the bed, half on one of Gabe’s shotguns. “I’m just gonna die right here, boss.”

“No, you won’t,” came Gabe’s steady reply. “I can smell you from here – you’re carrying half of Morocco on your clothes and I’m not sleeping next to that.”

McCree raised his head and looked hazily around the room. “Oh. One bed?”

“Yes. Not monitored, as far as we can tell, so we don’t have to keep up the couple-y thing 24/7.” He threw a towel at McCree’s head. “Shower. Now. You’re dead on your feet and you need sleep, we need you sharp tomorrow.” He looked measuredly at McCree as he gingerly got up.

“McCree.” No response. “Ingrate.” An annoyed look. “Tell me. Are you okay? You’re not moving how you should.” McCree gave a soft smile, red touching his cheeks for no reason Gabe could think of. “I’m fine, _jefe_ , I just haven’t really stopped for a good 36 hours now and it’s catching up to me.”

“Good,” replied Gabe. “Then you can shower and we can go the hell to sleep.” As McCree stumbled to the shower, Gabe started to organize the room, starting with the weapons. He methodically cleaned and put everything away, pausing before pulling McCree’s cannon of a gun off of the pile of his gear and setting it on the table. McCree trusted him to hell and back, but no one, not even Gabe, messed with his gun.

Gabe shook dust and dirt off of pieces of McCree’s gear into the trash can before putting it in the closet with his own. They couldn’t send this stuff out for cleaning so McCree had a date with soap, oil and the bathtub ahead of him. Gabe frowned as he folded the chaps, noting the blood splashes. With luck it was the other guy’s and not McCree’s, but who knew.

“Boss?” Gabe turned as McCree stuck a damp head out of the bathroom door. “Do you have any extra clothes, just something clean I could crash in?” Gabe gave him a look for a moment, expecting some punchline but saw nothing but a tired colleague. “Yeah, gimme a second.” Gabe pulled out a pair of flannel sleep pants, lobbing them at the door. McCree grabbed them, the door shut briefly, and then he emerged damp and shirtless. Gabe had longer legs but a narrower waist, leaving the pants on McCree slightly too long and definitely too tight for Gabe’s comfort level.

“Y’don’t have a brush with you, do you?” McCree asked, fingers tangling in wet hair. “You don’t brush curly hair,” Gabe replied, unconsciously running a hand over the curls at the top of his head as he began gathering his own things for a shower. “You don’t?” McCree asked in confusion. “No,” came the reply. “It just turns it into frizzy fluff.”

McCree’s face split in a smile and Gabe pointed at him and growled, “And you forget I ever said that.” He walked into the bathroom. “Jesus McCree, ever heard of cleaning up after yourself?” He threw McCree’s dirty clothes into the room, hitting him in the head. “Put those in the laundry bag.”

Gabe looked at himself in the half-fogged mirror. Not bad for an old soldier, SEP keeping him looking younger than he should be. If nothing else, at least he wouldn’t get dirty looks for being with a younger man. The scars were another matter. He sighed and turned the shower on, water still hot from McCree minutes before. He scrubbed himself down, getting rid of the sweat and transferred dust from McCree. At the thought of how that dust transferred he felt a frisson of heat go down his spine that had nothing to do with the shower. He was half hard, just from the slightest memory of being held against McCree. Keeping an ear on the door Gabe gave into the inevitable. At least it might cut down on the chances of waking up with morning wood next to McCree. He let his mind wander to a quick press of lips, breath on his neck, a hand sliding up from hip to sternum. After far too few twists of his hand on his dick he came quietly, with a soft gasp as he let the water rinse away the evidence. Gabe washed himself once more with the provided body wash – _what the hell even were sea minerals? Like, salt_? – to cover any lingering smell, and stepped out. A quick once over with his towel and he stepped into a pair of faded sweatpants and out of the room.

McCree lay in the same position as before, face down sprawled across the bed, though this time without the weaponry accompaniment. Gabe let himself look for a moment, then frowned and walked over. “McCree, what did you do to your side?”

“It’s nothing, boss. Just a lil’ car accident.”

Gabe pushed at McCree until he rolled off onto his right side. His left was a large bruise, with a cut in the middle that accounted for the blood on his gear. “If this is a little accident, I’d hate to see what’s a big one.”

McCree rolled back over and kept rolling until he was settled on one side of the bed. “Naw, it’s fine. Doc got the worst of it healed up.”

Gabe’s glare softened at the half-asleep sound of McCree’s voice. “Okay, then. Get sleep. You have to go shopping tomorrow.” An answering groan made Gabe chuckle as he shut the lights off.

As Gabe lay down, McCree’s voice came out of the dark. “Lullaby, boss? Or a story?”

“Go the fuck to sleep, _estúpido_.”

“Love you too, boss.”

 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

 

Gabe woke to warmth and darkness. He took a minute, breathing as if asleep, assessing his situation as his brain woke up. Mission. McCree. One bed. That explained it. Gabe was on his back, head turned to the right. McCree had moved close during the night, laying on his uninjured side with an arm thrown around Gabe’s hips and his head tucked into Gabe’s shoulder and armpit. Gabe’s breath stirred McCree’s hair, his arm totally dead under the weight of the other man’s head. Gabe clenched his fist and shifted as his arm exploded into pins and needles. McCree tightened his arm, pressing closer. Gabe felt a prod of heat through McCree’s ( _his his they were Gabe’s_ ) pants at his thigh and stared at the ceiling, praying to a god he hadn’t believed in since he was fifteen for guidance. McCree was a cuddly fuck – everyone in Blackwatch knew and had done time with his octopus arms when on missions or planes, including Gabe. It was expected, but nonetheless frustrating.

Gabe touched his tablet, checking the time. He still had a few hours left. He might as well torture himself while he was at it. Turning slightly, he moved his arm so it wrapped around McCree’s shoulders, silently breathing in relief as the pins and needles faded. Closing his eyes, he drifted back off.

Gabe woke again, this time to a hint of sunlight. He disentangled himself and got out of bed before he could really register what position he might have been in, leaving McCree slumped across the bed. Gabe threw a pillow at his head. “Get up. Eat something.”

McCree buried his head under the thrown pillow. Gabe sighed and started coffee with the provided maker – he knew how useless McCree was until caffeinated. Gabe poured two cups when the coffeemaker stopped, leaving his plain and adding way too much sugar for any normal person to the other. He left that one on the nightstand next to McCree’s tousled head.

“I’m going to do laundry so we’ll have something to wear. Try and wake up.” Gabe pulled on a shirt and gave his teeth a quick brush, poking at his hair until he realized he didn’t care and pulled on his beanie. He grabbed the bag with their clothes and went to the elevator. This hotel was known for being very discreet, to the point of not having laundry service or housekeeping during a stay unless requested. Throwing their stuff in, Gabe answered emails until the _*ding!*_ prompted him to grab their things and go back upstairs.

McCree was in the same position as before, though the coffee was now gone. Gabe sorted their laundry, having to look closely to see whose is whose. “Enjoying lookin’ through my skivvies, boss?” comes a muffled question from under the blankets.

 “They’re uniforms, kid. They’re literally supposed to look the same.” Dropping McCree’s clothes on the bed, Gabe pulled a shirt out of his bag and put it with the rest. “Wear this, you’ll look less like you’re about to attack something. And no wearing the hat.”

“Boss!”

“It’s too recognizable. Do you remember that shitshow starring us just across the country a few months ago? We can’t risk it.”

With a grunt McCree got out of bed – _don’t look at his pants don’t look how they tighten_ – and stumbled to the bathroom. “What’s the plan today?” he called out through a mouthful of toothpaste

“Go get together with Hansen, she has the list of what we need. Get the stuff for tonight, Hansen will know what to get, she helped Kerr.”

Not mentioned is that Diana Hansen has a long-term healthy and very kinky relationship with an Overwatch member (everything is on file in Overwatch. Every. Thing) and knows exactly what Gabe and McCree with be walking into. Gabe would regret knowing that, except it means that he doesn’t have to deal with dressing McCree. Hansen had picked out his own clothes, so she should know how they will look together.

“What about the other nights?” McCree exited the bathroom, dressed in his pants, undershirt, and Gabe’s button down half-done up over top. It’s just this side of too tight, buttons straining at the chest and sleeves unable to be rolled past mid-forearm. Gabe’s throat caught for a moment, before clearing it.

“Just…try and look good. If you can.” McCree huffed. “It’s a job like any other, kid. Dressy casual, get shit you can mix up if we’re stuck here awhile. Let Hansen do her thing.”

“I will have you know, I have excellent taste.” Gabe laughed. “Is that what you call your getup? Tasteful? "

“Could be worse, I could always live in a hoodie.” McCree fled the room, cackling as Gabe picked up a shotgun and waved it threateningly. Now he felt weird about wearing his hoodie. He pulled it on anyways, sending a quick text to Dean to meet him at a coffeeshop down the street.

 

-x-x-x-x-x-

 

Hours later the paperwork from Morocco and as much as can be done from this mission is complete. Dean and Gabriel played chess at a set of tables outside, having borrowed pieces from an elderly Italian man now dozing in the sun. About to move a knight, Gabe’s sun is blocked. Squinting upwards, McCree and Hansen come into his view, along with several store’s worth of shopping bags.

“Did you guys blow our whole budget? You do know we needed ammo, too?”

“Right here!” came Hansen’s cheery reply, jangling a bag.

“Good. Genji and Austin should be done soon, drop your stuff and let’s meet at the restaurant over there for dinner. It’s been checked as safe.”

An hour later, the team gathered at the restaurant, tucking themselves into a back corner.

Genji took a sip of water – that and nutrient paste were really all he needed these days – and started the debrief in his slightly metallic voice. “Austin and I checked out all tonight’s targets. No worries for our or Hansen’s areas. The one that gave us trouble was Il Teschio e La Rosa, where you and McCree will be tonight. It has very strong shielding everywhere, both physical and electronic, no doubt for privacy.” The group all paused as they imagined why such a club might need such privacy.

“On the positive side, there are very few entry and exit points, only the front door and a service entrance at back. Less positive is that there are several levels going down, so exiting in case of a fight might be problematic.”

Gabe blinked slowly as he thought through things. “I’m gonna say let’s run it as usual for the moment, same deal as last night. Get there at 2200, spend four hours. Do you know if this shielding blocks coms?” He directed this last at Genji.

Genji and Austin exchanged looks, red eyes meeting blue. “We… did not test. I apologize,” Genji gave a short bow that Gabe waved off. “But I do not think there will be problems. Their shielding seems to be directed at civilian electronics and cameras, and we are decidedly not civilian. I might recommend making sure your coms are very hidden when entering, however, so they are not detected by the security guards.”

Gabe nodded. “I’ll see if I can rig something as backup, just in case of emergency.”

The team broke up after that, wandering off to either explore or go back to the hotel – “No drinking, and pay for shit yourself, don’t use our accounts” – before their 2200 hours mission time.

“Reyes.” That was Hansen. “I’ll stop by earlier. McCree may need help with his outfit.” At Gabe’s look she laughed. “Don’t worry, you might even enjoy it.” Gabe shoved her off in the direction of the hotel, joining McCree as they walked down the sidewalk.

“Any plans for the next few hours, boss?”

“Get my head on straight. Take a nap. Didn’t sleep great last night.”

“Oh.” McCree took a few steps in silence. “Was it me? Did I do any-”

Gabe grunted a laugh. “Nah, kid. Just my brain being itself. It’d take more than your snoring and lack of personal space to faze me at this point.”

“I don’t snore.”

“You don’t have to sleep with yourself.”

“No one has ever told me I snored before!”

“Maybe they were just being polite.”

 

-x-x-x-x-x-

 

Gabe hadn’t been lying – although he had been (almost too) comfortable when he’d slept, it wasn’t a particularly good sleep. His head was still in Venice, still in Blackwatch slowly being exposed, still in Jack’s harsh words echoing around coffins. He loved Jack like a brother, though like many siblings they had grown apart with age, even as their bullheadedness stayed identical. Back in the hotel, Gabe pulled his boots off and his hood up.

“Wake me at 9.”

“Will do, _jefe_.”

Although McCree was known generally to never shut up, he often lapsed into comfortable silences with Gabe. The quiet sounds of gun cleaning lulled Reyes into a sleep peppered with dreams of endless Talon operatives pouring out of buildings and washing over everyone he had ever loved.

Gabe swam up to bleary consciousness, having slept too long for a mere nap but not long enough for a full sleep. Quiet laughter met his ears, the room dark but for light coming from around the bathroom door’s edge.

“Quiet, Di. You’ll wake Gabe.”

“Oh, it’s Gabe now? Lookit you, hotshot.”

“Shut up, it’s just this mission. You don’t call your boyfriend – ( _boyfriend? A wave of stupid warmth swept through Gabe before he depressedly registered the word ‘mission’)_ – ‘boss’.”

“Well, you might tonight. If not ‘master’. Now stop moving, this will smudge.”

A groan from McCree. “Don’t even joke about that. It’s gonna be hard enough as it is.”

“It, or you?”

A bark of laughter, cut off by what sounded like an elbow to the ribs.

Gabe decided it was time to officially get up. He didn’t know what they were talking about, and probably shouldn’t. He didn’t like to shove himself into his agents’ personal lives, they had to live with each other too much as it was. He sat up, bed creaking, rubbing his eyes. “You guys okay in there?"

“Yeah,” called back Hansen. “I’m finishing up McCree, we’ll do you next.”

“…Do what to me, Hansen.” Gabe asked suspiciously, brain still coming online.

“You gotta look the part, bossman.” Hansen swung the door to the bathroom open, waving an eyeliner pencil like a stiletto. Having seen the woman take down a 6’10 Talon agent with nothing but a penknife and bad attitude, Gabe watched her with trepidation.

“It’s nothing bad, I promise, let’s get you suited up.” Gabe had been lucky, having seen the catalogues that Hansen had pored through, that he was able to be mostly covered. He rooted around in the closet until he pulled out the bag. Close-fitting black pants that went into his usual leg plates and boots. He didn’t turn on the electronics, making them seem hopefully a little less military. His shirt was a sheer black tank top, but as he was pulling it on Hansen tugged his arm to a halt and dropped a small silver item into his palm.

“Really?”

“If you can still get it through, you should. It looks good.”

Gabe sighed and stared at the small barbell. He unscrewed the end and bent his head down, pulling at his left nipple. A long-ago lost bet thanks to Jack and the bad mixture of drinking and darts, and he’d ended up with a piercing that he’d worn for long enough that he’d mostly forgotten about it. He took it out some time after making Blackwatch commander, with a hazy image of being ‘respectable’, whatever that meant. He shouldn’t have bothered – the hoodie and beanie torpedoed that idea before it ever got off the ground. With a slight sting, the bar went through, to Gabe’s surprise. He screwed the ball back on and carefully pulled on the shirt, now more worried about it catching and ripping on the piercing. Lastly he had a black leather duster, with flared shoulders and a hood.

“Are you mocking me?” he asked Hansen at the time. “There’s nothing wrong with hoods.”

 “No, never, bossman,” she had said. On reflection, Gabe thought she might have been lying.

The coat reminded Gabe a little uncomfortably of Jack, but the pure black brought it far away from the strike commander’s bright blue. Jack’s coat was based off of what they wore back in their SEP days – Gabe’d had a coat actually pretty similar to this one, minus the sleeves and hood. Gabe pulled on leather gloves as Hansen came towards him, trying to keep all of his six foot one inches from cowering in front of the woman nearly a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter than himself.

“I’m not gonna attack you, Reyes,” she sighed. With a bottle of hair gel in hand, she yanked at his unruly hair for a few minutes until it was to her liking. Her hands were oddly soothing. “Hey – “ she quietly caught his attention and waved a makeup compact. “Your scars. Hide them, play them up?” Gabe and Hansen looked at each other for a long moment. She had as many scars as he did, just hidden better. She knew what they meant. He shook his head slowly, “No, just leave them.”

“Okey dokey. Now let’s make those pretty eyes prettier.” Gabe closed his eyes while Hansen poked and swiped gently at him. He heard McCree’s footsteps exiting the bathroom and coming to a stop not far from him. “Whoa, nice look there, Reyes."

“Shut it, _cabrón_. You need to enjoy it if we’re going to make tonight work.”

“Oh, I’m _enjoying_ it all right.” McCree said, smirk evident in his voice. “But you can’t get away from those comfy hoods, can you? Is it like a…I dunno, swaddling thing?”

At Hansen’s touch on his shoulder, indicating she was done, Gabe opened his eyes and locked them with McCree. He stood, stalking towards him. The duster flared around him, the hood shading his face, and whisky-colored eyes glared out from smudged black like the wrath of an angry god. McCree seemed to realize he’d crossed a line, stumbling backwards until stopped by the wardrobe against his back as Gabe advanced.

“You do know that I’m in charge of you tonight. In all ways.” Reyes – for right now he was pure Commander Reyes - growled into McCree’s face, still not looking away from his wide eyes. “Get used to it now or I will find a way to do this alone.”

With a swirl of coat Gabe walked into the bathroom, semi-disgusted with himself with both how dramatic he was being but also how getting in McCree’s face turned him on. He hadn’t even seen what he was wearing, he’d been so focused on the other man’s face and his own frustration and embarrassment.

“Jesse, exactly how much do you know about kink?” Hansen asked delicately. At McCree’s confused noise, Gabe dropped his head, before turning and growling to Hansen, “Brief him. Quickly.” He would have killed someone – quite possibly McCree – to have Kerr right now.

As Hansen’s murmuring voice started what surely must be one of the most unusual briefings of her career, Gabe looked at himself in the mirror. She’d done a good job, he thought grudgingly. Sharp lines of liner smudged out to fade against his skin, making the bags under his eyes look more like a fashion choice and less the product of PTSD. His hair, shaved closer at the sides and longer on top, was in piecey curls, swept back slightly. Gabe turned the water in the sink to hot and pulled out his razor, intending to clean up his goatee. He lost himself in the minutiae of scraping and rinsing.

“So, he’s my …master?”

A sigh. “It’s more complicated than that. You two need to figure out your backstory.”

“Why couldn’t we have gone to the junker club? I coulda blown things up! For fun, not even killin’ anyone!”

Gabe snorted as he rinsed his razor and turned around. “Let’s try and cut down on explosions of any kind, fun or not.” Hansen stood, nodding at him on her way out the door. “Diana.” She paused. “Thank you.” She smiled and shut the door behind her.

Gabe leaned against the bathroom doorway, taking in McCree. His lower half was similar to Gabe’s – dark pants tucked into his combat boots and legplates, lacking their usual red glow. His top, however…

McCree wore a leather harness, a complicated set of straps, studs, and buckles that went over his collarbone and onto his shoulders, encasing his upper arms in a mockery of sleeves. Five straps met in the center of his chest – four leading to his shoulders and wrapping around his sides, and the fifth going straight down into McCree’s pants, ending god knows where. McCree’s hair looked about as good as it could – _Hansen must have brought a brush, Gabe thought distractedly_ – flopping over his forehead a bit. His makeup was similar to Gabe’s, smudged liner around dark brown eyes, but also… was that lip stuff? McCree’s lips were just that tiny bit too red. Gabe was thankful for his leaning angle and the duster, because right now he was hard enough to hurt.

“So you were going to do this all with Kerr?” McCree finally said. Gabe nodded. “We’ve actually done this whole gig a few times before, sometimes with Hansen and sometimes not. We have a whole routine. It’s amazing how much information people will spill when they’re enjoying themselves enough.”

Silence for a minute. “So. Boss. Um. What’s our routine?”

Gabe looked at McCree, really looked at him and saw less of the sex object and more of the kid he’d known years ago, out of his element but trying. “Hansen explained the whole dominant/submissive thing, right?” McCree nodded. “It’s not just sex,” Gabe continued. “You don’t even need it, really. It’s what’s called power exchange. Willingly being in an unequal but complementary relationship.”

“Kinda like what we have already, with you bein’ the commander and all.” McCree noted. Gabe screwed up his face in frustration. “Yes, and that makes things both better and worse, that you’re used to obeying me in the field.” _Though nowhere else_ , he thought annoyedly. “So this is me giving you one last out, okay? You shouldn’t have been put in this position-“

“Boss, _Gabe_ , I’m okay,” McCree interrupted. “I’m a big boy, if lil’ ol’ Kerr could do it then so can I. She’s your subordinate too.” McCree looked at Gabe sideways for a moment. “She is…just your subordinate, right? I mean, you said you had done this before.”

Gabe frowned at him. “You know she’s dating Ryder, right? I wouldn’t get in the middle of that mess with a ten-foot pole.” McCree’s eyebrows raised. “Really? Huh. Wouldn’t think he was her type.” _What, but I am?_ thought Gabe in a huff. _Who does he think I’m into?_

“That’s actually a big thing, McCree. This deal doesn’t mean that people sleep around. Sometimes they do – sometimes it’s part of their lifestyle or the scene they’re in. We need to stay close, though, so it’s not gonna be us.” Gabe found himself pacing towards McCree again, but with more fluidity in his step.

“I.” Gabe brushed an imaginary piece of dust off of McCree’s shoulder harness. “Don’t.” A finger followed the line of the harness towards McCree’s chest. “Share.” Gabe hooked a finger in the chest ring and looked up at McCree who appeared to be a combination of terrified and aroused.

“You will stay with me at all times. I think so many people have been taken from this particular club because of their lowered boundaries and the expected behavior of what happens inside. We need to be on high alert. Clear?”

McCree nodded, swallowing before rasping out “Yessir.”

Gabe nodded and stepped away. “That’s good. Sir is good, or Gabriel if you must. Not Gabe, not boss, definitely not ‘master’, that one always gave me the heebie jeebies.”

“And what’ll you call me, _sir_?” McCree drawled. His mouth snapped shut as Gabe’s eyes flashed at him.

“Whatever I want.”

 

-x-x-x-x-x-

 

They were packed up and ready to go. Gabe tucked a few knives into unobtrusive places, wishing he could fit a gun somewhere. He glanced over at McCree.

“Grab a coat. We don’t want to draw attention in public.”

“I don’t have a coat, boss.” McCree had his serape but that would cover little of his chest. Gabe opened the wardrobe doors and looked through. His only coat was on his shoulders. That left…

“If you damage this at all, you will pay for it in blood.” Gabe held his hoodie out to McCree. McCree stared at it, and back to Gabe. “Is this… some weird test? Because I’m not feelin’ it right now.”

“No,” sighed Gabe, “It’s just literally all we have to cover you. Put it on and let’s get going.” Pulling his own coat closer, he flicked off the lights and exited the room, waiting for McCree in the hall. McCree followed, wearing the hoodie and looking awkward. It was one he didn’t wear that often – no Blackwatch logo – but it still tugged at him to see McCree in it.

They spent the cab ride over in silence, both thinking their own thoughts. Gabe requested to be dropped off several blocks away from the club, so they could have some time to regroup. Walking slowly, he and McCree meandered down the road by the canal, accompanied by the soft sound of waves.

“It’s a shame we have to be on mission,” McCree said abruptly, apropos of nothing. “It’s kind of nice here.” He looked out over the moonlight on the water. Gabe nodded, replying, “We wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for the mission, though. We don’t get to have vacations like that.”

McCree had stopped, turned towards the water and not looking at Gabe. “Be honest, boss. What’s going to happen to us? The media is starting to realize we exist, and y’can’t have covert ops without the covert.” He looked at Gabe, liner-smudged eyes serious.

“I don’t know. Jack’s handling it the best he can, but you know he’s never been the biggest fan of us on the best of days. Maybe we quietly dissolve. Maybe we go out with a bang. Maybe we’re absorbed into Overwatch. Maybe we even survive. I just…don’t know.”

McCree chuckled sadly. “Maybe we’ll be able to take a vacation. Be someplace like here for real. Or I heard London’s real nice this time of year.”

“Yeah, maybe.” They resumed walking.


	2. Chapter 2

“Over here.” Across the street from the club, Gabe nodded at an alleyway. He and McCree slipped into it, going far enough down to not be seen by passersby.

Gabe focused on the wall just next to McCree’s head. “Some basic rules. In there you belong to me. You check with me before doing anything with anyone, including talking. If you don’t, I’ll be seen as unable to control you and we’ll both look bad. Don’t eat or drink anything anyone gives you, we don’t want to risk getting drugged.” He looked over at McCree, who thankfully seemed to be taking this seriously.

“I’m going to have to touch you a lot. There’s no way around that. This is me apologizing in advance for that.”

McCree cleared his throat. “Do I get to touch you?”

Gabe considered. “Sometimes. This goes to the whole control thing. Yes, if it appears I’m allowing it. Did Hansen talk to you about safewords?”

McCree laughed confidently, “Yeah, boss, but I can’t imagine – “

Gabe cut him off, locking eyes with the other man. “It’s not a joke, McCree. We’ll use the stoplight system. Green means good, red means stop, yellow means take a pause and reevaluate. We need this in place, both professionally, and…personally.” He watched McCree’s adam’s apple as he swallowed.

“Assume we’re being recorded, definitely by the club if no one else. If they’re that nervous about electronics, it’s because they have to be. It’ll be hard to keep track of people – everyone will be male and likely wearing similar clothing. Do your best, watch for sudden disappearances.”

At McCree’s nod, Gabe clapped him on the shoulder. “Just listen to me like we’re in the field, and we’ll all be fine.”

Mournfully: “I just wanted to blow stuff up.”

They stood in line for security, touching shoulder to shoulder. Gabe got through the patdown without incident – thank god for coms small enough to hide away in ear canals – but McCree had a knife removed from his boot. He grinned and shrugged helplessly at Gabe’s narrowed eyes, accepting a ticket just inside for both the knife and the hoodie that he turned over to the coat check man.

McCree went down the darkened hallway first. In the occasional flashes of light, Gabe watched the muscles of his back shift under the leather straps that formed a pentacle under his shoulder blades. The straps met in a ring at the small of his back, and it looked like another strap went even farther down. Gabe suddenly ended up far closer to McCree than expected when the other man stopped abruptly just inside the main room. Gabe gently pushed him forward, shifting them off to one side so as not to block the doorway.

The club stretched back into stygian darkness, lit by various flashing jewel tones of light as well as the occasional spotlight. The predominant colors were black, red, and skin of every shade. There wasn’t much open sex, though the writhing shadows in every corner suggested it was still there. There were cages, St Andrew’s crosses, benches, and bars scattered everywhere. True to Genji’s word there were no apparent exits, bar a dark stairwell leading down. He saw a sign that indicated private rooms were below and were invitation only. Gabe glanced over at McCree, to see his eyes steadily taking everything in.

Gabe threaded a hand through the straps on McCree’s back. “Come on. Let’s get a drink and check things out.” They wove their way through the crowd like that, Gabe directing McCree with pressure on his back. At the bar, Gabe ordered a shot of tequila, a beer, and a glass of water. He tossed the shot back – no way he was going to get through tonight without a slight barrier – and slapped McCree’s hand away from the beer.

McCree looked at Gabe in wounded surprise as Gabe sipped from the beer. “You get water.”

“Bo-“ cut off by a lowering of Gabe’s eyebrows, “I- _sir_ , come on!”

“No. You haven’t earned it yet.” Gabe perched on a stool and leaned back against the bar, pulling McCree against his front, slotting their legs together. His sitting height meant the top of the other man’s head was at his eye level, looking over his shoulder. Gabe turned his head and murmured, “Watch everything. Find something and maybe you can have a drink.” He could feel McCree’s grumble more than hear it, but he willingly wrapped his arms loosely around Gabe’s waist and started surveying the club. The occasional drop of condensation dripped from his glass onto McCree, causing the man’s back to shiver like a horse’s. He absently ran a hand slowly up and down McCree’s warm back as he continued to sip his beer and look around.

“Very nice,” came a deep Russian accented voice from Gabe’s left. Both his and McCree’s heads turned to see a man of modest height but a barrel chest the size of an actual barrel looking at them. Gabe quirked an eyebrow. “Thank you.”

The man took a moment to order a drink, then lazily looked back to the pair. “Are you in the mood for joining me tonight? I have a standing room downstairs.” Gabe smiled and shook his head. “Appreciated, but not tonight. We’re still working on some…” his hand pointedly traced the ring at the base of McCree’s spine, “Control issues.” He could feel McCree tense under him.

“Understood,” the man chuckled, sounding like boulders crashing against each other. “We’ve all had pets like that.” He wrote something on a business card pulled from a pocket. “If you change your mind, I am Sasha. I’m often around here.” Slipping the card into Gabe’s front jacket pocket, he smiled and walked away.

 Pulling the card from his pocket, Gabe committed the information to memory just in case before handing it to McCree. “Shred it.” As McCree methodically ripped the card up under the bar, he murmured against Gabe’s leather-clad shoulder, “So is that gonna happen a lot?”

Gabe shrugged minutely. “Maybe. Look around at who’s actually here – tourists, older locals, dumb college kids that don’t know what they’re doing. You look exquisite; even if I’m here it’s a temptation that they can’t ignore.”

McCree shuffled slightly. “Is that you saying that, sir, or who you’re playin’ right now?”

Gabe wished he could see McCree’s face, though he was afraid to. That was the problem with this role – the extra control always made him too honest, and the bit of alcohol had loosened his tongue a tad more than anticipated. “Which do you prefer?"

McCree huffed a laugh into the side of Gabe’s throat, but didn’t answer.

An hour passed. Gabe had gotten a handle on the flow – people swept back and forth across the floor in currents, moving towards and away from each other as their urges dictated. The only couples he saw disappearing went to the dark stairwell, and inevitably returned after twenty minutes or so, looking considerably more disheveled than they started out as. Various patrons, singly or in couples, wandered over to ask Gabe and McCree to join them, but Gabe gently rebuffed them every time.

He did end up speaking for a while with an older man who wasn’t interested in them to play but was in fact a tailor who was impressed by Gabe’s coat. He explained how a friend picked it up for him (and started wondering how much Hansen had spent on it, damn her), but ended up discussing fashion with the man for a bit, continuing to glance around unobtrusively. The tailor left after a time, and Gabe turned his attention back to McCree, whom he noticed was very tense.

“You okay?” Gabe bent his head down to murmur. “You see something? Give me a color.”

“Gr-green, boss. I haven’t seen anything yet, other than people going downstairs.”

Gabe let the ‘boss’ slide. “Then what’s up? You’re making me nervous.”

McCree breathed deeply and turned his face to look at Gabe. There was color high in his cheeks and his pupils were blown wide. _Oh_. “Can you back off just a little here?” came the raspy request. McCree jostled Gabe’s right arm gently. “It’s a little…much.”

Gabe hadn’t been paying much attention to what his right hand had been doing, but he realized he’d been tracing mindless circles on the inside of the ring at the base of McCree’s spine, finger slicked by the sweat beading on the man’s back.

“If you’re still green, then I don’t have to do a damn thing, _mijo_ ,” Gabe found his mouth saying, with apparently no input from his higher facilities. His finger stopped tracing the ring, and instead slipped under the strap that led downwards. His finger moved…moved…and stopped inside the waistband of McCree’s tight pants, right at the top of his crack.

McCree’s eyes had closed, his mouth open as he silently panted. “You can tell me to stop any time you want, but I don’t think you want me to. I’ve given you every chance to leave, but here,” Gabe dug his nails in slightly to the meat of McCree’s ass, thumb still at the top of his crack, “…here you still are.”

Gabe should have felt guilty. He should have. But he had two hundred pounds of leather-harnessed gunslinger that he’d had feelings for half a decade falling apart in his arms, and he just couldn’t bring himself to care.

McCree’s eyes fluttered open, meeting Gabe’s dazedly. “Gabri-“

“Pardon me, sir,” came a metallic voice at Gabe’s left.

“ _What_.” He snarled at the omnic worker who dared interrupt them.

“A Mr. Repin wanted to extend an invitation to you to use our downstairs facilities. He said you do not have to join him but he would like you to enjoy yourselves.” Gabe fought his way through the haze of anger and lust to remember Sasha’s last name. They must have made a more memorable impression than he’d realized.

“Ah. Yes. Thank you.” Gabe took the slip of paper from the omnic’s hand and pushed his chair back under the bar. He kept an arm around McCree, still against his chest, for a moment as he spoke into his ear.

“We need to take advantage of this. I don’t know if we’ll have another chance to get down there and we need to make sure that everyone going down is going to be coming back up. Now are you good to go, need a minute?”

McCree licked his lips. “Yeah, sir. I’m good for this.” He met Gabe’s eyes. He was calmer than before, but there was something in there that made Gabe’s breath catch in his chest.

Gabe broke the look first, taking paper in one hand and McCree’s arm in the other to make their way over to the stairwell. An omnic wrapped in dark steel bands and rivets directed them into a small side room. A large man wearing latex gloves waited for them.

Gabe stopped short. “We’ve already been through the patdown and security.”

The guard nodded. “Yes, but we are more careful with our restricted section. We only want what is best for your privacy, _signor_.”

Gabe fidgeted as the guard ran his hands over McCree, who looked boredly at the ceiling. Had McCree hidden any other weapons badly? He hadn’t expected him to be unarmed but he had expected his weapons to be properly disguised.

His thoughts were interrupted by the guard’s suspicious voice. “What’s this?” he asked, holding up McCree’s com between two thick fingers. Gabe’s brain raced. How could they hide this? If they found McCree’s they’d find his own in a few minutes, and then they’d be in trouble.

He needn’t have worried apparently. “They’re for orders, from my master,” said McCree , sounding completely unbothered and nodding over at Gabe who smiled weakly. “So he can talk to me across a room, or when I’m…” McCree gave the guard an overtly lascivious look, “…otherwise occupied.”

The guard was unimpressed. “Regardless, they are electronics and you cannot have them here, _signori_.” He held a hand out for Gabe’s com, who reluctantly handed it over. “What is your ticket number upstairs?” McCree told him. “These will be stored with your other things, you may retrieve them only on your way out of the establishment.”

Gabe barely paid attention to his own patdown, brain racing. He was due to check in with the team as a whole in half an hour and see if anyone had seen anything worth focusing on. He had an alternative, but they were going to need some privacy to do it.

The guard finished. “The rules for our restricted section, _signori_. You may use any unoccupied room or join in with any one with permission. Wipe up all fluids with the room’s provided supplies and let us know if the room requires deep cleaning. We have a doctor on the second level for any serious injuries, though we are absolved of responsibility for any harm, disfigurement or death that might occur due to your activities."

McCree blinked at the last, but Gabe cut in smoothly. “Thank you for the information. Where are your most…private rooms?” He curled a hand around McCree’s neck. “I don’t like to share.”

“Down the hall, down the stairs, to the left,” was the answer. Gabe nodded in thanks and set off gently pulling McCree by the neck.

<“ _Jefe_ ,”> McCree muttered to him in Spanish. <“This is what we didn’t want happening.”>

<“Don’t worry,”> Gabe replied in the same language. <“I have a backup but I need some privacy to put it together.”>

<“Bathrooms?”>

Gabe laughed softly. <“Those are some of the least private places here, kid.”>  He laughed harder at McCree’s disgusted face as they went down the stairs.

They found the stretch of private rooms and shut themselves into the first empty one they found. It had a large, leather covered…bed? Bench? Something low and flat, in any event. There was a sink and cabinet tucked into a corner, doubtless with the cleaning supplies inside. The walls, ceiling, and floors – every surface was a mirror. McCree glared around the room.

“I don’t like this, sir. It’s too easy to put surveillance into mirrors. Even just making them two way.”

Gabe nodded in frustrated agreement. He moved closer to McCree so he could talk quietly. “I’m gonna say the ceiling is safe, the floor too. It’s be too difficult to mess with the load-bearing supports. The side walls don’t have people behind them, at least. The sink is there and I doubt there’s much behind it,” he jerked a head at the back wall. “So what we really need to worry about is this one.” They both looked for a moment at the wall with the hallway on the other side. Feasibly, anyone could look in on them if they knew how to.

“What do you need to do for the com?” asked McCree softly.

“Room. And time. It’s in my legplate, but I have to have some room to spread out.”

“You need much light?”

“Not really. It’s fiddly but I had to do it blindfolded before.”

“Okay. Let’s try this, then.” McCree went to the switch and dimmed the lights down, leaving them and everything in the room as dusky shapes. He pulled Gabe over to the bench thing, stopping to scoot himself on. Before he knew what was happening, Gabe was yanked over, finding himself straddling the thighs of a McCree flat on his back, his back to the front wall. Gabe stared down, mouth dry. McCree looked up, eyes bright in the gloom. He tensed his abdominals to sit up a bit, grabbing the hem of Gabe’s coat where it had become tangled and shook it out, the duster covering their legs like batwings.

“There,” McCree whispered in the silent room. “You have a covered area to work. Now get it together. Sir.” McCree was right – Gabe had the other man’s stomach to use as a makeshift table, shielded from the suspicious wall by his own body and his spread coat. Gabe ignored how he breathed a little faster every time McCree called him ‘sir’ in that insolent tone of voice and leaned back.

McCree’s tongue darted out to wet his lips at the sight of Gabe stretching back, crotch practically thrust at McCree. Gabe pressed a panel on his left legplate, and it popped out revealing a small plastic box. “Nifty,” McCree breathed. Gabe smiled. “You wouldn’t believe what I’ve adapted these things to hold over the years.”

Gabe pulled his hood up and bent over, opening the box and laying out the tiny components. “Organic plastic com kit, the metallic elements are some non-reactive stuff that doesn’t show up on x-rays. Torbjörn’s been working to perfect them for years now.” McCree looked down in interest, having pushed himself up on his elbows. “I didn’t know he did that kind of lil’ stuff, everythin’ I’ve seen from him has been giant scary turrets an’ shit.”

Gabe smiled as he started to snap small bits together. “You just have to ask him politely.”

McCree snorted, causing a screw to roll off of his ribs. “Whoops, sorry. Nah, I think it’s less Torby and more you, boss. Everyone just ends up doing what you want, in the end.”

Gabe frowned, eyes on his work. “Except for you, _cabrón._ You never fucking listen.”

McCree took in a breath. “I have been tonight.”

Gabe raised his eyes to meet McCree’s. He was suddenly aware of his position. Straddling McCree’s thighs, hunched over his stomach. Arms bracketing McCree’s crotch, resting on hipbones so his hands could delicately use McCree’s lower stomach as a workspace.

Gabe himself was half hard, had been practically since the cab ride. He could see out of the corner of his eye that McCree was in the same situation. He let his hands keep working as he and McCree gazed steadily at each other.

“So you feel you’ve been good, hmm.” Gabe asked in a low voice. “I did say you could have a drink if you earned it.”

McCree swallowed visibly. “What if I don’t want a drink.”

Gabe held up a finger to pause him. He held up the finished com and poked at it with a fingernail until it was on the right channel. “Team, check in.” Four clicks answered him. “We had our coms taken, I had to resort to my backup. Unless anyone has found anything monumental, spend another hour then meet back at my hotel. Speak now or hold your peace.” At the silence Gabe nodded, annoyedly realizing that no one but McCree could see the nod. “Okay, this com isn’t going to last so if you need backup ask anyone but me. See you in an hour. Commander out.” Gabe pulled the com from his ear and crushed it into bits of powder.

McCree raised an eyebrow in question. Gabe shook his head as he closed the plastic case back up and leaned back to put it back in his legplate. “This stuff looks like plastic but it’s some bio-thing, it degrades once active in about half an hour. It’s the biggest downside of them, and why they’re only used as emergency backups.”

“Now where were we,” he hummed, looking down at McCree. With one hand he shoved at McCree’s chest, the man flattening back down with an _oof_.

Gabe surged forward, covering McCree’s body with his own. He could feel McCree’s bulge distinctly now, poking into his hip. Bracketing McCree’s head with his arms, face just inches above him, he whispered, “So what _do_ you want?”

Silence.

“Tell me.”

Wide eyes stared up at him. “Y-you.” His throat worked. “Just you.”

Gabe gave a predatory smile. He took McCree’s chin in one hand, but instead of kissing him Gabe wrenched his head to the side, fastening his open mouth to McCree’s neck. McCree let out a near-soundless whine. Gabe licked his way down, ending at the hollow of McCree’s throat where tendons strained with tension.

“Color, McCree.”

Silence, but for panting.

“McCree.” Gabe used his hand not on McCree’s face to give a light slap to the other man’s side, inadvertently hitting McCree’s injury from Morocco.

“Green until that, asshole.”

Gabe licked an apology into McCree’s throat, worrying the skin with the edge of teeth until a red mark bloomed on tan skin. He knew he should probably care about that, but higher brain activity wasn’t something he was really capable of at the moment. He sucked a little harder, leaving another mark further down.

Gabe sat up into a similar position as when he was working, drawing his legs up under him. He traced the leather straps down McCree’s body. He let the strap that led down into McCree’s pants run through his fingers, letting his hands stop at McCree’s low-slung waistband.

Inhaling a silent, shaky breath, Gabe said with quiet control and confidence he did not feel, “Do you want me to take care of this?” He laid his land lightly on the bulge of McCree’s cock, feeling it twitch under his fingers.

McCree just looked at him for a long moment with dark, dark eyes. “I certainly wouldn’t say no,” he said unsteadily.

Gabe lifted his hand, pointedly ignoring the aborted jerk of McCree’s hips. “It’s not about not saying no. This is a strange enough situation as it is, McCree. I need a definitive – “

“Yes,” interrupted McCree. “Okay? Yes. P- _please_.” He turned his head away from Gabe at that last word. Jesse McCree rarely asked anything from anyone, and he never, ever begged.

Gabe undid the snap and zipper of McCree’s pants, the sound unbearably loud in a room whose only sounds were the breathing of the occupants. Spreading the fly open, he saw where the harness had led – down to a leather pouch against which McCree’s cock strained painfully. He undid the three snaps, releasing with sounds like small gunshots as Gabe flipped the pouch down. McCree’s cock sprang free, heavy with blood and arousal. Precome was smeared around the tip and all over inside the pouch, glinting in the low light.

“Well that can’t have been comfortable,” Gabe murmured into McCree’s hip as he slid down his body. Combing fingers through the hair at the base, Gabe slid his fingers up the shaft, thumb rubbing the vein running up the side. McCree tried, perhaps unconsciously, to thrust his hips up but was stopped by an iron-hard arm across his pelvis.

“No thank you,” said Gabe. “Do that again and this will end early.” McCree nodded, lip bit between white teeth. His heavy-lidded eyes stared down at Gabe as he bowed his head to slide McCree’s cock into his mouth.

McCree tasted of salt and sweat and leather, but overwhelmingly of just McCree. Leather did not absorb, so every bit of precome that the man had leaked over the past few hours was still smeared around his cock. Gabe delicately licked it all off, before sinking down. It had been far too long since Gabe’d had a dick in his mouth, but it was like riding a genitalia-themed bicycle – you never really forgot how.

Gabe’s lips stretched – the man was thick everywhere, including here – as he pushed forward a bit more with each head bob. Between saliva and precome he had enough lubrication to get his hand involved, stroking and following his mouth up and down. Gabe tongued just below the head and could feel McCree’s hips trembling as he held himself down.

Gabe had zoned out in the smooth rhythm he’d established, and so stuttered to a stop when he felt a hand at the side of his head. He looked up to see McCree looking at him with half open eyes and shiny licked lips. “Can I?” he asked.

“You can touch. No pushing. No directing,” came Gabe’s response before bending back down. McCree’s big hand pushed back Gabe’s hood and threaded through his curls, putting barely any pressure on his head. He was seemingly content to just stroke his head.

McCree was oddly silent. Gabe, whenever he had let himself daydream about something like this, had always expected McCree to be running his mouth, those constant pickup lines and flirting turned up to 11 in bed. Instead the only noises McCree had made were some pants and gasps. At a broken noise after Gabe managed to get his mouth all the way down to McCree’s base, he looked up to see McCree’s teeth sunk into his own arm. It made Gabe thrust against the bed out of sheer reaction before he got control of himself.

McCree suddenly shifted his hand to Gabe’s chin, trying to push him off. “I- I’m gonna –“

Gabe slapped his hand away, slamming his wrist down against the bed as he sucked harder. McCree came down his throat with a choked off moan, muffled by his hand. Gabe swallowed it all down, pulling off to give kitten licks to McCree’s cock until he twitched his hips with oversensitivity. Gabe tucked him back into the pouch, fastening the snaps and redoing McCree’s pants.

Gabe glanced at his wrist then gave McCree a slap to the thigh. “Come on, kid. We’ve gotta finish scoping out the downstairs and then get going.”

McCree slowly sat up. He combed his hair back with slightly shaky fingers. Gabe put a hand on his shoulder. “You okay? _We_ okay?” McCree nodded, with a soft smile.

“Okay, then let’s see what this place is hiding.” Gabe pulled open the door, only to blinkingly see Sasha Repin standing outside their room.

“A _pleasure_ , gentlemen,” he rumbled, confirming their suspicions that the rooms weren’t private at all. “I’m glad you took advantage of the invitation, even if we couldn’t enjoy it …together.” As nice as the man’s voice was, something about his tone was like a rough ground knife on Gabe’s nerves.

“We have much more to offer here, would you like a tour?” Gabe nodded and fell into step next to the shorter man, McCree keeping pace just behind.

“You say ‘we’, Mr. Repin. Are you involved in the business here?”

“Call me Sasha, please. And yes, I am one of several investors. I own the majority, though.” Repin pushed open a door that was hidden in the gloom. “Here we have some of our more specialized enjoyments.”

Gabe glanced through doors as they went by. Blood, tears, and every other bodily fluid imaginable were on display. Gabe liked rough sex now and then and obviously wasn’t opposed to BDSM in general, but as someone who had seen the worst of what humanity could do to each other on the battlefield he could never understand those that did it recreationally. They passed by a room where Gabe caught a flash of two people lying there – not having sex, just lying like puppets with cut strings.

He came to a stop, Repin continuing a few steps before realizing he’d lost his companions. Gabe smiled, his frustration and nervousness at having no com and being underground giving it an edge that would hopefully read as eager. “Would it be okay if my partner and I walk around a bit? I saw a few things that might ...appeal.”

Repin gave a hearty laugh. “Certainly! You and your …partner,” he obviously found Gabe’s use of the word amusing, “can look at whatever you want. I’ll be over there when you are finished. Or if you would like to join in,” he leered, gesturing at what looked like a luxurious office to the side.

Gabe smiled again, and wrapped an arm around McCree’s waist. McCree turned his head to croon into Gabe’s ear, “Is this about that couple a few rooms back? They looked like they might be in trouble.” Gabe nodded. “Let’s work our way around to them.

They wandered the hallway for ten minutes, glancing in to the various scenes of depravity. Thankfully everyone seemed to be having as good a time as possible, and no children in sight. Things would have really gotten messy then, particularly as the only exit to this place was several floors above them. Finally reaching the room, the agents glanced inside. Two men lay sprawled on an identical leather bed to the one McCree and Gabe had been on just minutes before. “Watch the door,” Gabe murmured as he entered the room. Their pulses were slow, so slow. They looked okay, with healthy color, but their hearts seemed to barely beat.

Gabe leaned down and pressed a panel on his left leg. McCree looked on in interest, one eye still on the hallway. Gabe withdrew a tiny sample kit. He pulled off the cap to a small needle and jabbed it in the arm of the man closest to him. After pulling a few milliliters of blood out, he broke the needle into a small sharps container and sealed the sample away, pulling on a tab to activate a cooling pack. “We’ve got two hours before this goes bad. Let’s get out of here.”

McCree gave Gabe his full attention. “What about them, boss?” he hissed, gesturing at the men. “We should get them out of here!”

“We don’t know if they’re here by choice or not. For all we know they’re on a new club drug and are sleeping it off. We know what they look like, where they are now, and we have a blood sample. Let’s work with that and track them down tomorrow, see what’s happening.”

McCree stared at him. “You know I trust you, boss, but after Venice…”

Gabe’s face shut down, turning away as he busied himself attaching a small tracker pulled from his pocket onto one of the men. “I made the decision I had to, McCree. If you’re going to question every major decision I make perhaps this isn’t the team for you.”

McCree growled as he pulled Gabe into the hallway, looking both ways before starting back towards the office. “Stop pushin’ me away, boss. You know I’m not goin’ anywhere, I just… with the group on tenterhooks at the moment we can’t risk making any bad decisions or they might pull the plug on us all."

Gabe’s shoulders slumped. He’d been spending so much time in his own head from an administration perspective about how Blackwatch would fare that he forgot the actual members might have some opinions on it. “I know. And I know you guys have been left in the dark on a lot of things – hell, I have been too. We just need to address it one mission at a time, and be confident in our ability to make the right decisions.”

McCree’s hand hovered, then descended onto Gabe’s shoulder. “You don’t have to handle it all alone, man. We’re all here for you. I’m here for you”

Gabe covered McCree’s hand with his own for a moment, not looking at him for fear of his eyes welling up like they were threatening to. They had reached the office, where Repin stood waiting. He looked at Gabe with amusement. “You must have a very unusual relationship. Letting your pet speak to you like that.” At Gabe’s lowered eyebrows, he laughed. “I heard him bellowing something in your direction a few minutes ago.” What? McCree didn’t bellow at him, he was pushing at Gabe out of caring, damnit. That was how their relationship worked.

Gabe’s spine straightened, inner Commander Reyes raising his angry beanie-clad head. “Our relationship and its intricacies are none of your business, Mr. Repin.”

Repin raised his hands. “I meant no offense. Come, let me show you something.”

Gabe followed him to the elevator, still tense and having slipped into his military stride (or what McCree usually called his ‘stick-up-the-ass-that-Morrison-shoved-there walk’).  They ascended farther than they had walked down, exiting onto a balcony that looked over the whole club.

“I know we just became acquainted, but I have a good feeling about you, Gabriel,” Repin said. My business is currently in the process of growing, and I could use someone who excels at being in charge, has a good head for business, and is familiar with the …lifestyle.” He faced Gabe. “I do not expect you to have an answer for me now, of course, but if you enjoyed what you saw today you should consider coming to work for me.”

Gabe gave a brittle smile. “I’m content with my life right now, Mr. Repin, but I’ll take your offer under advisement.” He stepped to the side until McCree slipped an arm around his back. “I’m afraid we have to return home.”

“Of course,” Repin said. “The stairs are just over there. Please, come back to visit any time.” Gabe nodded to him and they walked down to the bottom floor, Gabe feeling like his skin was crawling the whole time.

They picked up the hoodie, knife, and coms at the coat check and found themselves alone on the street in the cold Italian night. McCree went to the corner store to hail a cab while Gabe shoved his com into his ear, glancing at his wrist for the time. “ETA to hotel, twenty minutes.”

McCree came back over, shivering despite the hoodie and lighting up a cigarette he bummed off of the bodega owner. “So do you always get offered jobs when undercover, boss?”

Gabe smiled, “It happens more often than you think. Especially if you use things like politeness and professionalism.” McCree rolled his eyes. “I’m a total professional, partner.”

“You were fired from being a waiter, McCree. Twice now.”

“Shut up, boss. Well, if nothin’ else, you know that if Blackwatch totally folds you have other job options.”

Gabe nodded, leaning up against the wall and looking up into the star spangled sky as McCree’s smoke wound its way heavenwards.

“Wait.” Gabe looked over at McCree, who had a dawning look of horror on his face. “I’ve been trying to recall: do you remember what Repin said at the end?”

Gabe thought back. “He said I had a good head for business? Which, for the record, I don’t.”

“No, not that.” McCree looked at him anxiously. “He called you Gabriel. Did you ever tell him your name? Because I was mighty sure not to use it.”

Gabe shook his head, and the two stared at each other as waves crashed quietly against the canal in the night.


	3. Chapter 3

Gabe and McCree arrived at the hotel last, their cab driver apparently deciding to take the scenic route. They entered the bar, greeted with whistles.

“Nice look, Reyes! How much for you?” Dean hollered with his usual lack of class.

“Wait, oh my god. Is that The Hoodie?” Gabe winced as he could hear the capital letters in Austin’s voice as everyone’s attention turned to McCree, who shrank in his seat.

“Quit it, people. He didn’t have a coat and we didn’t want him causing accidents.” This caused everyone to break into new speculation as to what was under the hoodie, as Gabe and Hansen exchanged amused glances while McCree grumbled.

“Simmer down. Does anyone have any news?” Faces fell as they shook their heads. “Well, we do. I don’t think it’s good, though.”

Gabe ran through their encounters with Repin, the unconscious men, and the job offer, eliding over what happened in the private room. He tossed the sample kit to Austin – while not a full doctor, he’d been trained as a corpsman. “Take my tablet and upload this to Ziegler, you know how to insert the sample?” At Austin’s nod he waved the man off.

“Most troubling is what McCree realized at the end. We had made sure not to use my name, but he called me Gabriel at the end. We have to consider that we’ve been blown.”

“Who might this guy be?” asked Hansen. “Talon, mafia, independent operator?”

Gabe shrugged. “Name and accent were Russian, that’s all I know. I think Jack has some contacts in the Russian Defense Forces I can ask him to look into but…” He shook his head. “This feels Talon to me. It would explain how he recognized me, if he had any intel from Venice.”

“The media might be beginning to release pictures too,” said Genji quietly. “The techs have told me they are trying to get as much of a handle on it as possible, but all four of our faces may soon be recognizable.”

Gabe ran a hand through his hair, grimacing as his fingers tangled in dried hair gel. “Speculation is useless. We just have to work with the assumption that they know who I am and what we do, if they don’t know who McCree is they at least know he’s likely working with me. The rest of you will hopefully still be unknown to them. Well, maybe,” this last directed at Genji, who inclined a head. “We’ll use that to our advantage tomorrow. McCree and I will stay visible and try to interact with Repin while the rest investigate.”

He turned. “Austin, bring that tablet back.” He flipped through screens and hit a button. “The tracker on the one guy is activated, it looks like for better or worse he’s still at the club. Genji I’m sending it to you. You’re gonna be our recon man, I don’t want you too close. Let me know if the tracker moves, and follow it if it does, day or night.”

An alert dinged on his tablet. “Looks like those guys might have been the next victims after all.” He shot a glance at McCree, who was exhaustedly staring at the table. “There’s something in their systems – like a date rape drug but far stronger, with some type of memory inhibitor. There’s a whole lot of other stuff mixed in too, Ziegler isn’t sure if it’s relevant or just garbage. Hopefully we’ll find out before we need to deal with it tomorrow.”

Gabe stood up. “Let’s meet back here for lunch tomorrow, except Genji if you need to track.”

The team broke off into little groups, Genji talking quietly with McCree, Austin and Dean arguing over whether to take a cab or not. Hansen pulled Gabe off to the side.

“You’re going to take care of him, right?” She jerked a head over at McCree. Gabe stared at her. “He’s McCree. He’s fine.”

She shook her head at him exasperatedly. “Didn’t you notice his silence during the meeting? I don’t know what you guys did tonight – “ as Gabe opened his mouth to protest she held up a hand – “And I _don’t_ want to know, but at the very least he spent a stressful four hours having to act submissive to someone whose respect he’s accustomed to. I don’t know if it’s subdrop or not, but he’s fragile right now.”

Gabe looked past her. McCree _was_ subdued, wasn’t he. Gabe would have to fix that. He protected and took care of his team, whatever that took. He gave Hansen a quick hug, an unusually affectionate gesture from him, before walking over to the table.

“Time to wind down, boys.” Genji nodded and stood. “I will keep you updated on any movements, Commander.”

“Good man. See you tomorrow.” Genji walked off, joining Austin, Dean, and Hansen on their way out of the hotel.

Gabe grabbed McCree’s arm and hauled him up. “Damnit, boss!"

“Let’s get you upstairs before you turn into a pumpkin.”

 

-x-x-x-x-x-

 

In the elevator, Gabe was now hyperaware of McCree. Hansen was right – he was too quiet, holding himself too close while leaning against the wall. McCree was a big man with big movements: his arms were always flailing out, he talked with his hands and gestured with gun and cigar (both of which made everyone around him nervous), he spread himself everywhere. Jesse McCree was not someone to fold in on himself.

Gabe unlocked the door as they reached it, and collapsed onto the bed to undo his boots. He mindlessly hung his coat up and stripped off the pieces that had made him Gabriel, Dom of All and turned him into plain Gabe Reyes. Clad in his sweats, he turned to find McCree still on the bed, still dressed.

Damnit Hansen. At least she’d warned him. Gabe sat next to McCree. Too close, but McCree leaned over so his head tilted against Gabe’s.

“So in what Hansen told you, or what you’ve heard anywhere,” Gabe started conversationally. “Have you ever heard of subdrop? Or subspace?” He felt McCree shake his head against his.

“You know when we’re in a firefight, and you’re in the middle of battle and your guns are going off and enemies are dropping and maybe you’re injured but you can’t feel it because everything is amazing?” McCree nodded. Gabe continued. “And then there’s afterwards. Even if you’re not injured that adrenaline wears off and you just…crash.” McCree nodded again.

“That’s basically what this is. Except instead of fighting, it’s fucking. Or whatever. You go into that mental chemical filled place, you’re filled with all the good stuff coursing through you. That’s subspace. It’s a good place, but it’s got its flipside. When you come down, it can be subdrop. It’s like a hangover for your emotions. And your brain and your body. It’s your reaction to not having all that good shit getting you mentally high."

Gabe nudged sideways. “That’s you right now, kid. So I’m gonna take care of you tonight, ok?” Silence, then the feel of another nod. “You don’t have to talk to me, but let me know if you need something or I’m doing something wrong.”

Gabe steadied McCree’s shoulder as he got up then knelt down. He started unstrapping the buckles on McCree’s boots. “You should talk to Torbjörn about hooking you up with fancy boots too. You might laugh but I really do have all kinds of shit in there and the armor structure still holds.” Gabe realized he was babbling, but he felt like the talking might help. He set the boots to the side, and pulled off McCree’s socks, dropping them in the laundry bag.

He stood, and pulled McCree to his feet. “I know you don’t feel like standing right now, but we’ve gotta get you out of this.”

Gabe unzipped his hoodie and put it on the bed. He frowned at the straps of the harness for a minute, trying to figure out where everything went. Because it went around his arms he couldn’t just undo the bottom and lift… Gabe undid every buckle and snap he could find, then spent patient minutes unwinding it from McCree. Gabe once again undid McCree’s pants and the snaps of the pouch, but this time the sounds were quiet.

Gabe pulled the pants down and the harness completely off, leaving McCree naked with his eyes half closed in the middle of the room. Gabe shoved items in the general directions of laundry bag and wardrobe, and wrapped an arm around McCree to walk him to the bathroom. Sitting McCree down on the closed toilet seat, he started the shower up.

Rooting through the medicine cabinet, he found a bottle of baby oil and some cotton pads. He dampened one with the other and swiped over his own eyelids, removing Hansen’s eyeliner work. Grabbing a new pad he lifted McCree’s chin. “Eyes closed, please.” McCree obeyed with no protest – which now made Gabe feel vaguely guilty. He gently cleaned the makeup off of McCree’s face, wiping excess oil off with a clean pad.

“Okay, kid. Shower time. See you in a few.” Gabe turned to leave the bathroom.

“Stay with me?” came a quiet question. Gabe turned and looked at McCree. He was finally meeting Gabe’s eyes – progress! – but still seemed off. “I..” Gabe started. He watched McCree’s face start to fall and stepped forward. “No, McCree, I mean – yeah. I’ll shower with you. Just shower, though? Okay? We just want to get clean and into bed.”

McCree nodded and stood, pulling the curtain back and stepping into the steam. Gabe shucked his clothes outside the bathroom before stepping inside. He got into the steam, and was met by a damp, warm McCree hug. Despite them both being naked and attracted to each other, it was possibly the least sexual hug Gabe had ever had from the man.

Leaving McCree’s arms around him, he reached for the shampoo. He lathered McCree’s hair and rinsed, understanding now McCree’s need for a hairbrush. “We need to get you groomed, kid. Maybe you’re like those shaggy dogs that have to get summer cuts.” He felt McCree smile against his chest and he grinned in triumph to himself as he fingercombed the tangles out. “Let’s get you clean.”

Gabe scrubbed McCree, careful of his injured side. He flushed to notice the marks left by their evening – purpled marks on McCree’s neck and perfect toothmarks in his arm from when he’d muffled himself. Gabe scrubbed himself down quickly and grabbed the shampoo bottle and went to pour it before finding it taken from him.

“Let me,” McCree murmured. Gabe complied out of surprise, bending his head down. McCree gently worked shampoo through the curls, fingers mimicking earlier when he had held Gabe’s head while he… Gabe shut that line of thought down quick. This was not the time. If McCree liked his hair, then why not let him do what he wanted.

After rinsing, they dried and left the steam filled bathroom. Gabe pulled his sweatpants back on with a fresh pair of underwear. McCree pulled on the sleep pants borrowed from Gabe the night before.

“Can I keep this tonight?” McCree was holding Gabe’s hoodie. “Sure, kid. Now let’s go to  sleep.”

McCree got into bed, leaving Gabe’s sweatshirt unzipped over his bare chest and pulling the hood up. Gabe sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with his tablet. “I’m not going to set an alarm, we don’t have anywhere to be until lunch anyways.”

Gabe flicked off the lights and got into bed. He gave it a minute, then sighed. “Come over here. I know you want to.”

McCree moved over, sliding into Gabe’s open arms. Gabe was in the same position as last night – on his back with one arm under McCree. McCree rested his head on Gabe’s chest, one arm slung around his waist and curled delicately around his side.

“You want to talk about it?” Gabe asked, staring at the ceiling. There was no answer. Either McCree was asleep or faking it, and either way Gabe didn’t want to push. He closed his own eyes and drifted off to the feeling of McCree’s breath stirring his chest hair.

 

-x-x-x-x-x-

 

Gabe woke slowly. He was warm and he could feel sunlight on his eyelids – he must have crashed hard. It felt like morning sun, though, so he didn’t have to worry about being late yet. He felt… wait, what the hell was that feeling?

Opening his eyes, Gabe looked to find McCree’s head resting on his chest, chin propped up on his wrist. He was flicking at Gabe’s nipple piercing. “Stop that,” Gabe said muzzily, mouth still cloudy with sleep.

“When’d you get this? Feel like I would have noticed it over the past decade or so,” rumbled McCree. Gabe sighed. “It’s a byproduct from my SEP days. I took it out a few years after you joined us. It’s not like I go shirtless all the time so I’m not surprised you didn’t see. Hansen told me to wear it.”

“SEP, huh,” McCree gave it a vicious flick, making Gabe twitch and bat at his hand. “Did a certain strike commander have anything to do with it?” At Gabe’s lack of response he laughed, “Oh ho, so he did! I knew it. Does the all-powerful Strike Commander Morrison have any fun additions I can ask him about?”

“Not that I know of, this thing was because of losing a bet and Jack doesn’t like to make bets he knows he won’t win. Of course I haven’t seen him naked in quite a few years so for all I know he could have a full body tattoo and I wouldn’t know about it.”

“Mm. So why exactly were you seein’ Morrison naked?” McCree’s casual question had an undercurrent that Gabe didn’t want to get swept away in.

“We were never together, if that’s what you mean. We drunkenly tried to hook up exactly once and it was so bad that we haven’t touched each other for the thirty years since.” Gabe always felt that he and Jack were too much opposite sides of the same coin. Too alike and too different to ever come together. Not to mention, the man was brilliant but couldn’t kiss for shit.

“So you two clashing now ain’t because of some long ago affair?”

Gabe sniggered, “Definitely not.” Sobering, he stared at the ceiling. “I think that Jack let politics dictate too much of what should be a country-neutral group. I might be ‘narrow-minded and ignoring the big picture’” – both finger quotes and Jack impression were cuttingly accurate – “But I feel like he lost track of what we’re supposed to be doing.”

“Which is?”

“Trying to make the world a better place, one mission at a time. Not just bending over to whoever gives us money or a platform.”

They were quiet, McCree listening to Gabe’s heartbeat and Gabe listening to the thunder of air in his ears.

“I don’t think I liked it. Last night.” McCree said quietly.

Gabe felt a little bit of his heart break, and tried to keep it steady. Before he could get lost in his thoughts –

“Not you, or us, or, whatever,” McCree said. “That was good. Too good. So good it made it hurt worse after. And it’s.” McCree stopped for a moment. “It’s been a long time, since I’ve been allowed to let go. Be touched by someone who ain’t a medic or sparrin’ partner or tryin’ to kill me. I was in Deadlock and then Blackwatch and I’ve spent all the life I can remember living with teammates. So the options are to get with your teammates or find someone in those few hours on mission that you can get away and neither are good.”

Gabe barely breathed, not wanting to interrupt McCree’s confession. _That’s probably why you’re so clingy in sleep_ , he thought _. Trying to get some human contact any way possible._

“I reckon that’s why it hit me so hard,” McCree continued. “I’ve never fucked anyone I’d had a relationship – friendship, romance, whatever – with before. And so there were just too many emotions. Especially with the whole sub thing."

Gabe’s brain wouldn’t shut up in the silence. _Damnit Jesse, what does that all_ mean _? Are you never going to touch me again? Was it just a sub thing? Did you only do it because of the mission? Did you have feelings before?_

Instead he found himself saying, “I get that. I was in the military, then SEP, Overwatch, Blackwatch.” He trailed off. “I don’t know what it means to exist outside of an organization.”

He felt McCree prop his head back up on his wrist and look at him. “I guess it means that we just keep trying to change the world, boss, until it sticks. An’ we don’t need those organizations anymore.

“An’ we can be ourselves, find somewhere to call home.”

Gabe closed his eyes. He was fifty years old with mysterious chemicals running through his veins and throwing himself into danger on a daily basis. He hadn’t expected to live past twenty in the army, and so he just kept doing what he was good at. But when that backbone, that team, crumbled away? What did he have left? Creaky bones, a scarred face, and no real relationships.

McCree sat up. “I’m makin’ coffee. You want some?”

 

-x-x-x-x-x-

 

“Reyes.” Genji’s voice crackled in Gabe’s ear, on the private channel he went on while on recon.

Gabe clicked over to the channel. “Go ahead.” McCree and Hansen looked at him with mild interest as they sipped from small cups of strong espresso, the trio at a café waiting on Austin and Dean.

“The tracker is moving. There is a large truck, I believe for laundry, that is moving south on the Via Spetzia.”

“Where are you?” murmured Gabe as he pulled out his tablet.

“I am following on rooftops. The traffic is very slow, I will be able to keep pace for some time.”

Looking at Blackwatch’s map of the city, complete with favorite mafia dumping spots marked, Gabe cursed. “That’s the A7 motorway. It leads straight to Genoa.”

“And the port,” said Genji. “They could go anywhere from there.”

Gabe shut his eyes for a moment and let his brain work. Flipping over to the main com channel – “Okay, team. We are mobilizing. Gear with you at my hotel ASAP.”

McCree and Hansen were already standing. “Are finally going to see some action, bossman?” Hansen asked with some excitement, that bloodthirsty woman.

“Looks like. The targets are moving towards water and a thousand places to escape to. We’re going to try and catch them.”

McCree and Gabe walked quickly towards their hotel. “Can you get my stuff? I need to get our transport.” McCree nodded, and Gabe turned down an alleyway. In a quiet parking garage was a large black van. It was a Mercedes, something that would have gotten it stolen in a hot second where Gabe grew up but was the equivalent of being near invisible in Europe.

Gabe pulled out of the parking lot and had to take five different turns to make it to the hotel that was only a block away. Cities that were built for horses just didn’t fit modern day vehicles. The team minus Genji stood on the sidewalk, all carrying totally non-suspicious duffle bags with odd lumps inside. Austin pulled the door open and everyone piled in.

Gabe started to navigate toward Genji and the tracker, as the team suited up. “We’re in a black van coming towards you,” Gabe said over the com. “We’ll be on the right side of the road with the sunroof open.”

Twenty minutes later a light thump came from the roof and robotic legs gracefully dropped into the center of the van. Genji unwrapped the yards of dappled linen that had been disguising his inhuman limbs as he reported. “The truck is about half a mile ahead. One driver, one passenger, both male, Caucasian. I tried to get heat signatures on who resided in the body of the truck, but I could either not get close enough or their shielding was too good.”

“Based on how this has been going, we might want to bet on the latter,” Gabe grimaced. He sped up as much as he dared in the heavy Milanese traffic, settling down one lane to the right and several vehicles behind the truck. He glared at it as if he could see inside with enough effort.

“We’re in broad daylight right now, people. That might mean that they won’t make a move until dark, but if they feel enough in control they might just go ahead with whatever they’re doing. When we get to the port, Genji, I want you on rooftops. Try and give us eyes in the sky. Hansen and Dean, go be a romantic couple walking along the water, try and get as close to unloading docks as you can. Austin and McCree and I will monitor from here and be ready to move.”

Everyone nodded, serious in the face of their mission finally coming to a head. “If possible we should get the tagged men away from the targets, but it’s more important to find out who has them and where they’re going. If we have to put someone on a goddamn ship along with them, we will.” Faces fell at that, but still acknowledged agreement.

“Shit, boss,” came McCree’s voice. Gabe glanced away from the road to see his face buried in a tablet. “There’s the airport, too.”

“What airport? I thought this was a water port.”

“Yeah, the Portofino. With the Genoa Cristoforo Columbo Airport right next door.”

“Damnit. Okay. Let’s see which way they go.”

For better or worse, the truck turned towards the airport. The team followed at a respectable distance, the tourist traffic providing good disguise.

The truck pulled off into the commercial area, eventually parking up by three other trucks with the same laundry service markings. “Those trucks all have the same shielding,” Genji stated. “I cannot detect any heat or movement inside any of them, even the one with the tracker.”

Gabe wanted to bang his head on the steering wheel. He also wanted a beer and a soft bed, but none of those were forthcoming so he needed to deal with the current situation.

“Same as before, just adapted for this, now, folks.” Gabe rapidly gave out assignments: Hansen and Dean now going to slip in as baggage handlers, dispersing everyone but himself, Austin, and McCree to places around the commercial area.

Gabe unbuckled and made his way to the back of the van. Taking a seat on one of the benches, he unzipped his bag and pulled out his gear. He felt eyes on him as he pulled off his shoes and jeans, but looking over while he pulled on his tactical pants neither McCree or Austin seemed to be looking at him. As teammates everyone had seen everyone in every state of undress, often covered with nothing but blood and bruises. He really must be anxious to be feeling this uncomfortable.

The team settled into position as the sun slowly made its way across the sky.

 

-x-x-x-x-x-

 

“Movement,” Hansen’s voice came quietly over the coms. Gabe sat up from where he’d been gazing at plane contrails rising and falling against the sky, and focused on the trucks. Pulling a pair of binoculars up, he saw Hansen and Dean in hi-viz vests speaking with two men in vests and headsets. “We’re going to help…” her voice grew louder as she spoke a few lines of Italian to a man with a flirtatious tone in his voice. Quieter: “We’re going to help unload the trucks into a plane that’s going to pull up in a few.”

“Get ready to move, everyone.” Gabe ordered.

Binoculars pressed to his eyes, legs tensed and ready to spring out of the van at any moment, he watched the man with Hansen open one of the trucks and pull out…a cart? A metallic tower on wheels, with various medical symbols on it, Gabe recognizing ones for ‘fragile’, ‘hazardous’ and enough exclamation points to make it seem like one of Dean’s texts. “Fuck with it, Dean. Genji, try and get closer,” Gabe murmured, as the figures started to pull the carts down the truck’s back ramp.

Dean let the cart run over his toe. It tipped over as Dean jumped around, holding his foot that was completely uninjured thanks to steel toes. A  side door of the truck they had tracked all day burst open, and none other than Sasha Repin stormed out. He rushed over and gave a blistering tirade in Italian, Gabe only catching one word in five through Dean’s com.

“Unless there are people in the bodies of the trucks, personnel seems to be limited to unloaders, Repin, and the men in the tracked truck,” came Genji’s calm observation.

“Let’s let them work for a bit, see if they touch the one with the targets.” Repin plus the two in the truck. Three to six odds – Gabe wasn’t counting the two luggage handlers as anything other than bystanders – was a walk in the park, may as well let them hang themselves.

The second truck opened, revealing four men clad in matte black –  “Talon gear,” muttered Austin. They pulled out two floating platforms that could have been fancy transports for anything, but looked too similar to coffins to hold anything other than bodies. “Heat signatures from inside the containers,” McCree stated, holding a tablet up in the trucks’ direction.

The third truck held more metal cabinets and two more goons, their tracked truck disgorging to more floating body holders – tracker pinging steadily from inside one – and another two black clad men, plus the drivers. They had gone from easy three-to-six odds to facing ten men, plus Repin, four possible victims, the two baggage handlers, and a partridge in a goddamn pear tree.

“Mark.” Gabe hefted a shotgun over a shoulder. McCree had his gun out, Austin was already out of the van and peeking around the corner with his rifle. Hansen and Dean were tense but ready and god knew where Genji was but there was likely an unsheathed sword involved.

“Protect the body bags, try not to fuck up the cabinets, avoid the baggage men.”

Gabe took a breath. Threw open the door: “Go go go!”

Lead and fire filled the air. Hansen and Dean worked on shoving the body holders back into the trucks as McCree and Gabe kept the Talon men’s heads down with firepower. As well geared as they had been, they didn’t have their guns out when Blackwatch hit and those few precious seconds were all the time they needed.

Enemies dropped like flies, until Gabe strode forward to face Repin, backed up against a plane’s giant tire with a bloody nose and shrapnel cuts.

“I take it you are not going to consider my offer, Gabriel,” Repin said, lips curving through a mask of blood.

“What were you planning to do with the people you took?” Gabe asked, shotgun still pointed at Repin’s chest.

Repin smiled a bloody smile, opening his mouth to speak, then suddenly looked surprised as a dart sprouted from his neck. As he tipped over with a frozen look on his face, Gabe spun around, both shotguns looking for something to track.

“Stand down, Gabriel,” a low voice came from his left. Gabe swung the shotgun over, then lowered it in shock as Ana Amari came out of the gloom.

“What the hell, Ana. What the hell! This is our op!” Gabe felt like the ground had been yanked out from under him. Five minutes of fighting after days of prep, and now Ana was here.

“We will take it from here,” Ana gazed calmly at him, blue Overwatch hat topping greying locks that were not a hair out of place.

“You what? We have spent _days_ on this, and you’re waltzing in and – is that fucking Reinhardt?!”

“Hallo, Reyes!” A massive arm waved before picking up several of the heavy medical cabinets.

“Gabriel.” Gabe’s furious eyes found Ana’s once more. “We are under orders to take it from here and do cleanup.”

“You mean take credit.”

“Yes, _habibi_. Take credit. Because Blackwatch is on the precipice and we are trying to keep it as much out of the spotlight – “

“So Jack can take it for himself, you mean,” Gabe hissed viciously.

“Stop it, Gabriel! You know that we are _all_ in trouble, Overwatch and Blackwatch both! You need to be as invisible as you can, and if that means that we are visible instead, then so be it because you will still be alive at the end of it!”

Gabe spun around and walked a few paces away, then back. “What now. You just take all of this, the bodies and Repin and the drugs, and we walk away with nothing to show for it.”

“You will have a debrief, a record.”

“Will I? No, really, Ana, will I? Or will my team and I spend a day writing everything down and it just gets shoved into a shredder somewhere while a new report with the heroic adventures of Overwatch gets put into the record?”

Ana glanced away for the first time. “I do not know, Gabriel. I truly do not. There are games of chess happening that are over even my head.”

“There is only one person over your head, Ana. And if you’re not willing to call him out on his shit…”

“You will not call him out on anything right now.” Ana’s small hand covered Gabe’s, clutching his shotgun so hard his knuckles trembled white. “You are feeling hurt and as your friend I am sorry for that. Take a few days here before coming home. Do not go home with these feelings and do something you cannot take back.”

“Home?” Gabe laughed, a broken sound. “What’s home, Ana? I thought you all were home, I thought we all were family. The bitchy kind that has fights at reunions and maybe dies in the line of duty sometimes, but still family.” He pulled his hand out from under hers. “This isn’t how you treat family.”

Ana looked at him sadly. She got a far-away look in her eyes for a moment: “Load them up. Make sure to balance and lock the wheels, and get Ziegler.” She refocused on Gabe. “We are on our way out. Please consider taking some time before returning.” Ana patted Gabe’s hand, then walked past him towards the airport.

Gabe stood for a moment, staring out at the water that stretched a thousand miles out to Africa, and had never felt more alone.

 

-x-x-x-x-x-

 

Austin parked the car in the garage, the dying engine leaving the full van in complete silence. The two hour trip had passed slowly, each agent sitting with their own thoughts.

“Go back to your hotels. You can leave tonight, you can take a few days here or back at HQ, just keep your receipts. Write your reports tonight. Be ready for debrief at 0800 on Wednesday.”

Gabe grabbed his bag and left the van, walking away before anyone on the team could move. He was being unprofessional and uncommanderlike and a whole bunch of other un-s but right now he could not care less. Days of hard work, a possibly ruined relationship with his second in command, an emotional rollercoaster…and all for nothing.

Would this be how it was for now on? Blackwatch doing the work and Overwatch sweeping in at the end for glory? They had always operated in the shadows – they didn’t have the medals that the boys and girls in blue had, but they always had ownership over what they did. They bled and fought and died for what they had achieved, and now it was being taken away from him bite by bite.

At the hotel Gabe dropped his bag on the floor and continued out to the balcony. After being trapped in a car all day he couldn’t handle one more set of walls. He stood staring out into the black night, light pollution blocking the stars but providing a soft golden glow to the edges of the dark.

A soft jingle of spurs accompanied McCree’s step out onto the balcony. A flicker at the corner of Gabe’s eye as a cigarillo flared to life, and smoke threaded upwards. Gabe put a hand out, and McCree gave the cigarillo over. Gabe breathed in, burning tobacco filling his lungs with warmth and the earthy scent that permeated all of McCree’s gear. He exhaled slowly, handing the cigar back to McCree. They passed it back and forth until all that was left was a butt that McCree stubbed out on the railing and shoved in a pocket.

“Want to talk about it?”

Gabe closed his eyes. “Maybe later.”

“It’s been a day, boss. Go shower and go to bed. Don’t make me force you.”

Gabe laughed quietly, bitterly. “Well hey, it’s not like I have control over anything else in my life.”

He turned and walked inside, unbuckling his chest armor. McCree followed, tossing his hat on the couch and running a hand through sweat-dried hair. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Gabe yanked off his boots, shoving them in a corner with his beanie. “I know. I’m bad company right now.”

McCree slowly unbuckled his own gear. “You… take care of all of us, boss. Especially me. Lately.” An uncomfortable chuckle. “I don’t know how to take care of you.”

“Me neither.” Gabe unselfconsciously stripped down to underwear and walked toward the bathroom.

“Do you want company?” came a quiet question. Gabe looked back to see McCree in boxers and undershirt on the edge of the bed, his calm face belied by emotions only apparent in the white knuckle grip he had on the bedclothes.

A dozen thoughts flew through Gabe’s mind – _is this pity/couldn’t do it again/too good/didn’t like it/too emotional/bad commander_ – and instead of answering he went in the bathroom and shut the door firmly.

Gabe stayed in the shower until his fingers wrinkled, letting the water crash around his ears and block out any other sensation. He reentered the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. No McCree. As his heart clenched in a way he couldn’t articulate a flicker drew his eyes back out to the balcony, where McCree stood smoking. Breathing deeply in something he denied was relief, he pulled on pajama pants and got into bed.

Gabe kept his eyes closed as he heard McCree come in sometime later. He listened to the sounds of fabric rustling, of the shower turning on, of splashing water. The sounds of rough towel on skin, of fabric again, the click of the lights and the creak of the bed as McCree got in.

Gabe lay there for a few minutes, listening to the shush-shush of traffic on the roads outside and McCree’s quiet breathing.

He felt the bed shift as McCree came closer. “You know I’ll do it durin’ the night anyways, maybe it’ll at least help you sleep better.”

At a hand on his neck Gabe lifted his head, letting McCree slide an arm underneath. Gabe was gathered in his arms, head tucked against the strip of hairy bare chest between the sides of – yes, that was still Gabe’s hoodie. Their legs tangled and for the first time in a very long time, Gabe let himself be cradled in someone else’s arms.

“I’m just so tired.”

“I know, boss. I know.”

 

-x-x-x-x-x-

 

Gabe woke yet again to warmth, but a grey light that made him not want to move. He blinked his eyes open, eyelashes brushing against skin. He was curled against McCree’s side, who had an arm draped loosely around Gabe’s hips as he scrolled through his tablet with his other hand.

“Sorry I didn’t do my report last night.” McCree’s voice was a vibration against the side of Gabe’s head.

“It’s not like I did mine either.”

Neither man moved, and Gabe dozed off.

He woke again to the sound of a door, the light this time barely visible. McCree shut the door behind him, dripping water in the entryway.

“I got coffee. Sorry if it’s watery – comin’ down like cats and dogs out there.” Gabe sat up and accepted the warm cup, taking the lid off and inhaling the life-giving scent.

They drank in companionable silence for a few minutes, McCree’s outer layers laid out to dry on one armchair while he sat in the other, Gabe still on the bed.

“When are we leaving, boss?”

Gabe looked over. “You can leave whenever you want, I meant it about having until Wednesday. I think I’m going to head out tonight. I’d like to not deal with anything Italian for awhile.”

“’Cept for coffee.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll go back with you. Not like there’s a lotta sightseeing to be done in this weather.” Gabe nodded in response.

Gabe glanced at his com and tablet, and decided it would be too much effort to put his coffee down. “Have you heard from the others?”

“Genj and Austin went back last night. Hansen’s leavin’ tomorrow, said she wanted to see some church. I think Dean’s staying with her to keep her company.”

They lapsed into silence again. Gabe felt like the weather – grey, damp, unable to do much other than puddle on the ground.

“I was gonna get some lunch, you want to come with?”

“No, I think I’m going to try and get started on my report.”

“’Kay, see you in a few.”

As McCree stomped his damp way towards, the door, Gabe grabbed his tablet, the screen flashing threateningly with messages.

One or two from each team member bar McCree – they’d all done their reports, bless them, and updated him on their plans. Two messages from Ana, ignored for now. One from Angela Ziegler. One from Jack that Gabe had to clench his fist to keep from erasing without even opening.

He clicked on Ziegler’s message. It was about the composition of the drugs and the four victims that had been brought to her. The medicine cabinets had indeed been full of vials of the same stuff that was in the victims’ blood. None had woken yet, and it wasn’t expected that they would remember anything anyways. Some chemical that had to have been used to manufacture it was rare enough that Ziegler thought this might be all the supply around, unless someone had made major scientific breakthrough. Given Talon, this was entirely possible. Ziegler was still working on the garbage stuff in the concoction, but said that she tentatively thought it might have something to do with reprogramming or longer-term amnesia – making the victims into blank slates. Gabe wrote back a note of thanks, saving the message to include in his report. If nothing else, hopefully they got this stuff off the street. No doubt Talon’s scientists would be whipping up more, but with their dealer out of the loop perhaps it might slow down.

Gabe spared a thought for Repin. What was happening to him now? How important was he?

Ignoring his own questions, Gabe started in on his report, giving as detailed account of the op from start to finish as he could. His fingers paused on the screen when he reached what his brain had helpfully decided to label as the Room Incident. He slowly started to type again, writing that they entered the room looking for the victims, exited, and ran into Repin. It was accurate enough, just missing a tiny bit. He wrote steadily until the creak of the door drew his eyes.

McCree entered, once again dripping water. He shook his head like a dog, spraying droplets as far as Gabe.

“Really.”

McCree grinned. “Here.” He dropped a bag on the nightstand next to Gabe. “Grilled cheese an’ tomato soup. Perfect rainy day food. Made with the fancy Italian tomatoes, too.”

Gabe smiled fondly before he could stop himself. “Thanks, McCree.”

“No problem. When are we due out?”

Gabe flipped through pages on his tablet. “8 pm local time. That’ll give us enough time to pack and you to do your report.” McCree groaned.

“You need to do it before it goes stale. Get it done now and then you’re free for two whole days.”

“Yippee.”

Forty five minutes later Gabe was done, the soup and sandwich nothing but crumbs next to him. He indulged in letting himself look at McCree over the edge of his tablet. He hunched over the table, tablet propped up on a shotgun shell, tapping steadily at the screen. His shirt clung damply to his shoulders and hair curled up in odd cowlicks as it dried.

Were they okay, now? They’d had one strange and fabulous night, then an awkward morning after, a firefight, and now…what? Things weren’t noticeably weirder, but it was hard to continue life as usual after knowing what his friend and subordinate’s orgasm tasted like. And last night, when McCree offered company. Pity? Payback for taking care of him the night before? Actual caring?

Gabe realized he’d zoned out staring at McCree’s arm. His Deadlock tattoo was still black on the inside of his forearm – Gabe wondered why he’d kept it all these years. On the side, just at the edge of the wing, that bitemark had deepened into a dark purple. No one had any other injuries from the op – a rarity in Blackwatch – and Gabe wondered how he’d explain it.

Gabe blinked slowly, moving his eyes upwards and meeting McCree’s steady gaze.

 “We should pack.” Gabe refused to blush or be awkward.

McCree bobbed his head in acknowledgement, and turned back to typing. Gabe stretched – had he really not left bed all day? When was the last time that happened? – and swung his legs out of bed. He gathered his things – dirty clothes in one duffel ( _how the hell did you clean a sheer shirt? Should he even keep it? When would he use it again?)_ , gear, weapons and the beautiful black duster in another. He pulled on a shirt and switched his sweatpants for jeans, rooting through the corners of the bag for a precious clean pair of socks. He spotted the sleep pants and hoodie he had lent McCree ( _was it really only a few days ago? It felt so much longer)_ in McCree’s pile of dirty clothing. He left them there but also left the flap of his laundry duffle open, letting the other man decide what he wanted to do.

Checking the complimentary coffeemaker and finding it bereft – “Coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“I’ll be back.”

Gabe stopped at the door, forced himself to turn. “McCree.” He looked over in the general direction of the gunslinger but couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes. “I skipped over some of the. The details at the club. I know it was all the mission. But.” He turned and opened the door. “You can write what you feel comfortable with. I’ll be back,” he repeated, exiting the room in what was absolutely not a rush.

Team members’ reports went to Gabe before submission. He would never edit one of their reports, but he would look over what McCree wrote and match his story. The only thing worse than writing a teammate blowjob down in the record would be for one person to write about it and the other to hide it. If nothing else, everything was for the mission.

Always, for the mission.

 

-x-x-x-x-x-

 

The trip back to Zurich was uneventful, some hyper new recruit of Jack’s piloting the craft with a high pitched English-accented voice that grated on his nerves. Gabe was sure she was a perfectly nice girl, but after the past few days it wasn’t the most enjoyable trip. The one advantage to the girl’s chatter meant that he didn’t have to talk much with McCree. McCree was his usual charming self to the girl, all ‘sweethearts’ and ‘sugars’, but even he was more subdued than usual.

Gabe and McCree trudged through the hangar to HQ, each weighted down with bags of clothing and weapons. On the way to the wing with their quarters, Gabe stopped in the middle of the hallway when Ana emerged from a corridor. After a moment he resumed walking.

“I haven’t had time to read your messages. Sorry.” Gabe said as he passed her by, no apology in his voice.

“Gabriel…”

He kept walking.

McCree stopped at his room, dropping his bags to the ground with a clank. He and Gabe gave each other pained smiles. “See you Wednesday morning.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Gabe walked the twenty additional feet to his room, two down and on the opposite side of the hallway, the furthest room down. He had to type in his code twice, exhaustion making his fingers stumble.

He shoved his bags to one side of the entryway. Being Blackwatch Commander came with a few perks, and one of the biggest was having a full suite, complete with small washer and dryer tucked to the side of the tiny kitchenette. Gabe often ate in the canteen with his agents, but he enjoyed never having to wait for a free laundry machine.

He collapsed at his desk. He needed to get these reports out, but first…he pulled up his computer screen, the messages from Ana and Jack flashing at him.

Jack’s came first. Why not rip off the bandage all at once, after all? It was only a few lines, confirming the debrief on Wednesday morning and asking for a meeting of just them on Tuesday night. Gabe glared at the screen before stabbing the ‘accept’ button. As bad as it might end up being, it would be infinitely worse if they first discussed the situation in front of the team.

Ana’s first message was similar to Jack’s asking for the Tuesday night meeting. He didn’t know if it would be better or worse to have her there. Ana was part sister, part babysitter, part fulcrum on which the other two twisted around, constantly in a state of unbalance.

Her second message asked if he could stop by at some point to see Fareeha, who was on leave from the Egyptian Army and visiting her mother. Gabe smiled. He’d watched Fareeha grow up from spirited girl to passionate woman, and though her relationship Ana could be tempestuous at times, it was always a joy to see her.

Gabe frowned. He’d been an ass to Ana. He’d assumed he’d receive several dressings down, but instead got a meeting confirmation and invitation to visit family. Ugh. He was still frustrated with her – she had Jack’s ear, but just as his second in command obeyed him, Ana obeyed Jack’s orders.

Speaking of which.

Gabe pulled up the reports. Genji, Hansen, Austin, Dean, even one from Kerr detailing her abrupt removal from the project. Despite Dean’s usual creative spelling everything was by the book. Gabe opened McCree’s report, sent earlier that afternoon.

For all that he joked around and grumbled, when it came down to brass tacks McCree always got his assignments done in order and on time. His report was note-perfect, giving just enough description to understand the operation. Gabe realized he wouldn’t have to change his own report at all – McCree gave virtually the same description: checked room, left, ran into Repin. McCree’s description of Repin was less complimentary than Gabe’s – despite being a drug running degenerate and Talon operative he wasn’t really as short or ugly as described – but otherwise accurate.

Gabe compiled the reports with his own leading and sent them off to Jack. Now he had two days to kill before the sword dropped, so he should probably figure out what to say.

Undressing and letting clothing lie where it dropped, Gabe crawled into bed and stretched out, happy to be on his own sheets with his own pillow for the first time in a week. Despite all the comforts of home, he wasn’t truly comfortable, and he fell into a restless sleep telling himself he wasn’t missing a thick arm wrapped around him.


	4. Chapter 4

Gabe spent the next few days doing not much of anything. He slept in on Sunday, stopping by the guest barracks to grab Fareeha and take her to brunch in town. She was doing well, standing nearly as tall as Gabe and full of opinions on how she should join Overwatch. Gabe claimed neutrality like he had for years, telling her to sort out her shit with her mother first. Ana really should bend a little – Fareeha was just the type of person Overwatch would shine with.

Gabe ran. As great as firearms practice and sparring was, nothing would ever compare to a long distance run. Settling into that zone where he had mostly lost sensation in his legs and nothing existed other than heaving lungs and wind against his cheeks did much for settling his mind. He saw team members occasionally, passing by in the hallways or the practice grounds. He ate in his rooms and told himself that he was just tired and not avoiding anyone.

Tuesday rolled around and as their 2100 meeting time approached, Gabe found himself pacing around his room. With half an hour to go, a knock came on Gabe’s door. He opened it, frowning, to find Ana.

“I didn’t want you to manufacture an emergency reason for not being able to attend,” she said easily as she brushed by him and into his rooms.

“No, just come on in,” he muttered. Louder: “You mean chicken out, Ana.”

“If the boot fits, _habibi_ ,” she shrugged.

“Shoe.”

“Hmm?”

“If the shoe fits, not boot.”

“You are wearing boots right now. And how many languages do you speak, boy?”

“Four.”

“And I speak three more than that. So pardon me if my turns of phrase are not perfectly to your liking."

Gabe’s grin was interrupted by another knock on the door. He looked at the wall – 2035, still some time left. He opened the door to find Jack, out of uniform in Overwatch-issue sweats but posture still ruler-straight.

“I would have showed, you know."

Jack smiled at seeing Ana inside. “A little extra encouragement never hurt.”

Entering his quarters, Gabe walked to his refrigerator and grabbed three beers. He handed them around and sat in an armchair. “So what’s this about, eh? Going to let me yell myself out in the tantrum room before letting me interact with you in public?”

Jack sighed and rolled his eyes as he opened his beer with a large ring on his right hand. “No, Gabe. I just wanted to talk. And explain.”

He handed Gabe a tablet. On it was a picture of Gabe, both shotguns blazing as he fired offscreen, all three of his Venice teammates in the background. His face was surprisingly clear for an image that must have been taken from a drone, given the angle. He flicked through more pictures: another of him with guns firing and a dead Talon agent at his feet, one from the situation in Rome with he and McCree trying to shield themselves from the explosion. That was the incident that had instigated them to action in Venice. If the media was really putting all of this together…

“Your face is out there, Gabe,” said Jack tiredly. “You can be the most covert ops team in the world, but if someone sees your face and has watched the news at all in the past week, you won’t even get a chance to ever get close to anything.”

Gabe stared at the tablet, mouth dry.

“You are upset about Overwatch shoving their way in at the end of your op. I understand, Gabe. It’s disrespectful and stepping on your toes. But when the op is at the stage it’s at because your face is recognizable enough to be identified at a random club…that’s a problem for how your organization operates. If the cameras end up focusing on us – and you know that the cameras did show up, what were you thinking of a shootout at an airport? – instead of you, that’s one more mission you survive.”

Jack leaned over and pushed the tablet down, drawing Gabe’s eyes. “I am asking you as a fellow commander, as a friend, Gabe. What do you want to do? How do you want to operate Blackwatch now, with,” he gestured at the tablet. “This.”

Gabe was silent. He took a breath, and tapped the tablet. “How did these pictures get out, Jack? This wasn’t security cam footage.”

At Jack’s expression, Gabe hurried on. “I’m not avoiding the question, Jack. We _were_ covert. We broke in, got up to Antonio’s suite, he died, and we fought our way out. The only people who knew we would be there were Blackwatch.” He gestured to a tablet again. “We did our research, we knew their security. How did what looks like a drone get in and even get these pictures in the first place?”

Jack frowned. Gabe continued, “I’ll do what’s best for the team and for us as a whole, and if that means stepping back or doing my ops in a goddamn Halloween mask then that’s what I’ll do. But this problem isn’t just the media and my face being seen, it’s how it got out in the first place. Maybe we should be looking inwards.”

They all sat soberly drinking beer for a minute.

“I’ll talk to the tech department. Only people I trust and have vetted personally. We’ll see if we can track who took the images and got them out,” Jack finally said. “It doesn’t solve this problem, Gabe. You still need to be less visible. I don’t just mean undercover, I mean less in the field."

Gabe glumly picked at the label on his bottle. “I’ll figure out a way to make it work.”

“I trust you, Gabe, whether you believe it or not. I know you’ll make it function.”

Ana stood. “This has all been lovely, boys, but my bed is calling me.”

Gabe looked up with a quirked eyebrow. ”So you come, say nothing, drink my beer, and just leave?”

“I would have stopped you two from decking each other if this had gone another way,” she breezily said over her shoulder as she set the empty bottle on the counter and left.

Jack and Gabe looked at each other and laughed. “You know, I think she might have ended up punching one of us herself if it came to that,” Gabe chuckled.

Jack stood and stretched. “I knew I kept her around for a reason."

Gabe walked Jack to his door. Jack turned around, in the hallway. “I don’t like feeling like we can’t talk, Gabe. Half of what we say feels like coded messages and there’s too much riding on this to spend time decoding it."

Gabe rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I know. Sometimes I miss the days of SEP, when we just followed orders and let other people worry about shit like image.” He held a hand out for Jack to shake, and was surprised when the other man pulled him into a rough hug.

“See you tomorrow, Gabe,” Jack clapped him on the shoulder and strode off down the hallway. Turning to enter his quarters, Gabe saw McCree at the pin pad for his own quarters, hand paused in entering the code and looking at Gabe with an unreadable expression. Gabe waved a hand in acknowledgment and walked back inside.

 

-x-x-x-x-x-

 

The next morning the team gathered in an Overwatch meeting room, with Jack and Angela Ziegler in attendance. Jack congratulated them on the op, and apologized (very mildly, this _was_ Jack) for the abrupt end to it, without really making it clear what he was apologizing for. Ziegler updated them with the information sent to Gabe on the drug. It was generally decided that it was the end of the line for this particular avenue of investigation on their end, though Overwatch was looking into the possible manufacturers. They were to keep their eyes open for any high profile people disappearing and reappearing with changed or no memory, but other than that this was in the ‘watch and wait’ file. The meeting ended with Jack promising to send information later that day on some activity near Antarctica that might be of interest to Blackwatch.

Gabe went to another few meetings, the red tape seemingly never ending. After a round of observations in the training facilities, he went back to his quarters and changed.

He ran.

As his feet pounded the uneven trail floor, his emotions swirled in his chest. Jack was on his side, at least. Who else was, though? If that leak to the media really did come from inside, then his organization was rotting away with no input from Overwatch at all. Used to having Overwatch to blame for everything, Gabe felt unsettled and betrayed to have to consider the motivations of his own teammates. He had selected and recruited the majority of Blackwatch, and he felt sick to think his judgment had been off by that much.

It was close to midnight when Gabe returned to his quarters, desperately in need of a shower. After getting clean and changed into sweats, he sat on his couch and read the same few pages of a report over and over again, brain unable to shut off. He finally shut everything down and lay in bed, hoping the exercise would have tired his body out enough to override his mind.

A soft knock came from his door. Gabe flicked on his bedside light and walked through his quarters, opening the door and blinking in the night-dimmed hallway light to find McCree.

McCree held a bundle out to him. His sleep pants and hoodie, neatly folded.

“Sorry it took me so long to get them back to you, I kept puttin’ laundry off,” McCree said quietly, focusing his eyes somewhere behind Gabe. “Thanks for them in the first place, too.”

Gabe took the clothes, “No problem.”

After a moment where it was clear McCree wasn’t going to say anything else, Gabe stepped back into his quarters, ready to shut the door.

“Boss.”

Gabe looked up, McCree staring at him intently.

“Why are you and Jack buddies now, after all of that? Why are you okay with how they’re treating y- us?”

Gabriel looked carefully at McCree’s face, then sighed and opened his door wider. “Not here. Come in.”

Gabe padded inside, hearing McCree shut the door firmly behind him. He sat on the side of his bed, gesturing to the armchair facing him.

McCree sat, looking at Gabe expectantly. Gabe felt torn for a moment – if this really was internal corruption then he couldn’t trust anyone in Blackwatch, especially those who had explicitly known about the mission.

But.

This was McCree.

He’d pulled him from a desert hell at the age of 17, and he had been with them ever since. He _knew_ McCree, had seen him grow. He was his second, his colleague, his friend. Maybe his almost something more at one point. If he couldn’t trust McCree…he couldn’t trust anyone.

Staring at the arm of the chair where McCree picked at a loose thread, Gabe quietly explained what he and Jack had discussed. How their home might have cracks in the foundation, how Gabe hated to admit it but in order to serve Blackwatch’s larger goal Gabe would have to be less visible.

He chanced a look up at McCree’s face. The other man stared at his hands, silent.

“Why are you tellin’ me?” He met Gabe’s eyes. “It could be any of us, and obviously I knew about the op. Why trust me?”

“Because you’re you. And if I can’t trust you,” Gabe took a breath. “Then I have nothing left.”

McCree jerked his head in acknowledgement. He stood and walked towards the door in the darkened quarters, leaving Gabe on the bed in a small pool of light.

He stopped, in the entryway. “I haven’t been sleeping. Not since Milan.” Not since them. Not since sharing a bed. He turned, gracelessly. “You don’t have to say yes, boss. Maybe better if you don’t. But.” He met Gabe’s eyes, almost shyly but there were far too many emotions for just one label. “Can I stay?”

Gabe didn’t respond, but moved to the other side of the bed and pulled the bedclothes back. McCree stepped back into the room and walked over, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He pulled off his boots and took off clothing slowly and methodically, folding it after, leaving him in regulation boxer briefs with an uncharacteristically neat pile of clothes next to his boots. He flicked the light off and slipped in next to Gabe.

They lay there, facing each other, not touching, breathing, quiet.

Gabe shifted to his back. “You know you want to.”

A breath, from next to him. “You don’t know what I want.”

“Then tell me.”

Movement shifted the bed, then an unexpected weight on top of him. McCree’s knees straddled Gabe’s thighs, his hands next to Gabe’s shoulders. McCree stared down at him, eyes glinting in the bits of outdoor security light seeping in.

“You never kissed me, you know that?” McCree said conversationally.

“You danced with me, you blew me, you broke me down and put me back together, you trusted me. And you never kissed me.” Gabe’s brain went through a frantic slideshow as he unblinkingly looked up. It was true – other than that one, almost pressureless peck at the very beginning of it all, they never kissed.

“You want a kiss.”

Ragged breath. “I want- I want a place to belong.”

Gabe reached up and held McCree’s shaggy face, so carefully. He pulled him down, McCree shifting his forearms flat on the bed. Gabe left them like that for a few moments, forehead-to-forehead, chest-to-chest. He kissed McCree gently, lips cradling and not asking for any more. McCree tilted his head, deepening the kiss and turning it into something faster. He shifted his weight to one arm, using the other to hold Gabe’s cheek.

Their lips moved faster, sloppier, pants and small gasps slipping out around the edges of tongues. McCree slid a hand into Gabe’s hair and pulled his head to the side, biting at Gabe’s neck with a sharpness that made Gabe moan. Kissing the pain away, McCree rucked Gabe’s shirt up, Gabe fumblingly helping to get it off.

McCree kissed his way down Gabe’s chest, veering off to nip at Gabe’s left nipple. He’d forgotten about the stupid silver bar though it until just now, and his brain took a break for a moment while McCree worried it with gentle teeth. Pushing the bedclothes down, McCree settled between Gabe’s legs, nipping his way up one inner thigh and down the other, avoiding his cloth-covered bulge as he sucked in marks that would be felt for days.

Finally, finally McCree moved up and mouthed over Gabe’s clothed cock. Gabe’s head fell back from where it had been propped up watching McCree work. He felt cool air as his underwear was pulled down and off, and let out a groan as he was enveloped in soft, wet heat. A clever tongue worked its way into his slit, Gabe breathing heavily and open-mouthed. A stab of jealousy and possessiveness hit his gut as he wondered how McCree got so good at this, only to be blanked from his mind at a particularly talented lick. Gabe could feel himself stumbling towards the edge, so he reached down and pulled McCree up to him. He kissed him deeply, licking his taste out of McCree’s mouth.

“Jesse.” The other man went still. “I want you.”

McCree moved a hand slowly down Gabe’s side. “How do you…?”

Gabe shook his head. “I don’t care. I just want this.”

McCree sat up, ass on Gabe’s thighs as he looked down. Hair messy, lips red and shiny, spots of color high in his cheeks and spreading on his chest, he looked like a debauched masterpiece that belonged in one of those Milanese museums. Gabe was swept by a wave of possessiveness – _no one else gets this, this is_ mine.

“Lube?”

Gabe pulled open the second drawer of his bedside table, McCree slipping off the bed and out of his underwear before grabbing the tube. “Condom.”

Gabe shook his head. “Side benefit of SEP. It kills just about everything.” McCree smiled a sharp, sharp grin at that. “You all have been holding that back."

“By ‘you all’ you mean me and Jack, and I’ll be a bit upset if that’s something that would matter to you with Jack.”

McCree swung a leg across Gabe’s thighs. “We’re not talking about Jack right now.” He stroked up Gabe’s cock. “Unless you mean…"

Gabe chuckled through a gasp of pleasure. “Shut up, kid.”

McCree stilled his hand, before leaning forward, hair draping down and blocking the world off from their faces. “Do I seem anything like a kid right now, Gabe?”

Gabe reached up with his mouth and gave him a strong kiss, before leaning down and giving McCree’s cock a stroke. “Definitely not,” he breathed into McCree’s mouth.

McCree smiled against his mouth, and leaned back up. He slicked one finger, then two, reaching behind him. His eyes closed, brow furrowed slightly in concentration, leaving Gabe to look his fill. His body was so balanced, shoulders matching thighs and waist, thick cock in proportion to everything else. He startled to feel McCree’s fingers wiping lube on his cock, slicking it up before shuffling forward.

McCree sank down slowly and deliberately, taking an inch at a time. Gabe felt the stretch around him, and clenched his hands into fists to keep himself from yanking him down. After an eternity, McCree was seated, opening those dark eyes and meeting Gabe’s gaze with an expression full of emotion. He flexed his thighs, and started up a smooth rhythm. Gabe slipped into the pattern, their hips moving in the synchronicity they’d shown what felt like ages ago on the dance floor.

“You’re so quiet. You were before, too,” Gabe found himself saying after McCree let out a soundless gasp.

“It came from…Deadlock and then the barracks at Blackwatch, before I got…ah, before I got my own quarters,” came McCree’s broken reply. “You always had to be quiet. I got in the habit.”

Gabe reached up, over on McCree’s still-healing weaker side. With a smooth move pulled right from their training handbook he flipped them, McCree now pinned on his back below Gabe’s hips.

McCree grinned with a shark-like edge. “Dirty pool, Gabe.”

Gabe leaned down to whisper in McCree’s ear. “I want you to feel this tomorrow. I want to hear you make noise for me.”

He thrust his hips viciously, and the dance changed. Now it was like the thousand thousand times they had sparred together, hips and lips battling for control. Gabe shifted one of McCree’s legs up on his thigh and hit something on his downstroke that made McCree moan, finally. He drove into that spot over and over again, pulling noises he had never heard before from McCree’s throat.

Gabe felt himself getting closer, and leaned down to nip at McCree’s neck, refreshing the fading marks from days ago. McCree broke first, spilling white between their chests with a rough cry that he tried to muffle with an arm that Gabe yanked down to his side. Gabe came soon after, unable to handle McCree’s tightness around him. He filled McCree with a grunt, burying his face in the curve between shoulder and neck.

They lay like that for some minutes, sweat and come drying on their bodies as their breaths slowed and calmed.

“God I need a shower,” McCree muttered, a rumble through Gabe’s ear. He laughed soundlessly and sat up slowly, pulling out of McCree with a slight wince. McCree reached up to pull Gabe’s face down to him in a mirror of their first kiss, almost too sweet for what they just did. McCree pulled back with a slight look of disgust as he tensed his thighs together,  “No really, I need to shower now before this gets real gross.”

Gabe laughed for real this time, standing up and pulling McCree up and over to his bathroom. He didn’t bother turning on the lights, letting the steam fill the dark room as they washed each other with an efficiency that belied the tenderness of their kisses.

Back in bed, wrapped in McCree’s long arms, naked this time.

“I didn’t actually mean for all this to happen,” McCree said, slight guilt in his voice. “I really did just want to sleep.”

“It was a long time coming.”

“I…I was just so afraid it was all the mission. You’re so hard to read sometimes,” McCree stated quietly.

“Probably because I couldn’t figure out what all I felt. And you know how it is undercover, you lose track of what’s you and what’s the role. And…and I hurt you.”

McCree pulled Gabe’s head up, eyes searching his. “No, no. It was a …lot, but it wasn’t you. Know that, Gabe. Never you.”

Gabe covered McCree’s hand on his cheek with his own, smiling.

Blackwatch might not exist next year, or next week, or even tomorrow. They had problems reaching down to their very roots. But here at least, in this moment, here was safe. Here was the start of something solid, of belonging.

Gabe closed his eyes to darkness. And warmth. And home.


End file.
